Today's poem is by Bernadette Geyer
No one ever warns how low
clouds can bend to lap the bay
with thirsty, gossamer tongues.
Or how life is consistently reduced
to forms of water, returning to puddles
and tears, rivers and sweat.
They don't mention how quickly
a storm can gather and cross the bay
in the rushed flight of wings and sails.
Or that life can end like this:
the fishy smell of the shore builds
and sours in your stomach, the language
of the living replaced by swish and thrum.
Nature's incongruous voices
will fail to disclose that your last breath
may be used to laugh.
Copyright © 2010 Bernadette Geyer All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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