Tree leaves are surfing... Windy waves, gentle
my mind, gather your brine from unshed tears,
and sere sun-forged reflection free, scent all
with profounded depths of created piers.

Swallow cooled breeze, my trees, humanity
swims with shadowed strokes, with sensitive hopes;
I hear the murmur of moon-soft sighs, try,
please, to see my desert heart, wound with ropes.

The crackle of mast-bound sails swell with pain,
then seek to rearrange lands arid sands
into ever-lapping oceans of open
forgetfulness, while trailing life's demands.

Winds that touch seas and lands, mingle the salt
and sand, absorb wayward storms peace will fault.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 6/20/04