Thursday 3 November 2011

The Widowed Fisherman

Salty grains rub relentlessly into coarse hands
as they gather in leathery creases and gray, turn antique 
in time to his matted beard, now a silvery web of moss;
a clinging cobweb of shadow-gray haze, while a feathery 
mass of foam left stagnant on barren sand to expand
and decay, frays at the edges of a deserted shore,
where the sea, relinquished by its master has deceased,
encased in cracked earth. 

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