Barefoot Poetry

SS Matthews


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Driftwood

A ceaseless current rolls its course as surface oscillations-
archetypes of the human mind, in endless fascination,
seek the swifter water where the elemental flows.

Barnacles bleached and drying cling to underlying form,
all my expectations wash like driftwood to the shore,
tossed to beach and dying in the aftermath of storm-

One more piece of flotsam set adrift from isle to isle,
powers unperturbed propel this raft of dreams I ride.

Overhead a field of blue, a blazing, sullen sky,
erases known horizons,
conjures islands through refraction,
life is liquid in reflection,
on a string of faceless landfalls spread
in giant strides apart.

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