Hope


Itís time
For another retreat
To the wrinkled shores
Of a secret beach:


Where the salt air
Splashes loud-
Like crystal sequins
On a fevered brow.
Where the fierce tide
Swallows wide,
And forms a hollow
For me to hide.


Underwater
Is cold and silent;
Eerily violent.
But the ocean echoes
And trembles and yawns. . .
And rescues me from
The lonely dawn.


Vanishing
Into the dark sedation,
I bathe in a moment
Of eternal vacation.
Elation, elixir,
Thatís what I need,
Thatís where Iíve been,
To balance the terror
Of your reckoning.


I sober
Against the returning swells
And surrender my rings
To the wishing well.


All poetry on this website(c) Anastasia Clark. All rights reserved.