Cross the Bridge

I contemplate waves,

skip stones in your eyes,

wade past the shallow parts.

There is no need for old north boats,

since we have uncovered

our own safe passage.  

Baggage drowns in the current;

a selkie dons my wedding veil,

wonders at so many shoes.

Spoon the rest of the journey;

give in to the tug of gravity,

the low ache that drops like stone.

A stormy berth is best, even though

you are too civilized for thunder.

tk/August 2013 

Thanks to R.A.D. Stainforth, taking time from his holiday in Shetland to read this poem.  

photo by Elena Kalis 

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Meanwhile

Meanwhile, I know

the wistful in my bones,

the coming pixelated blue―

write mindless, solid,

insouciant, as if it were the ache

of a passing storm.

I shake my umbrella―

thank, kiss, and love unrequited,

like a dog wet from rain.

Strangely compelled to tidy affairs―

ignore the exaggerated

details of hell.

tk/June 2013

Thanks to the talented R.A.D. Stainforth for reading this poem. 

image by Musin Yohan

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in my best dress

With you, I'd dance

In a storm, in my best dress

Fearless

― Taylor Swift