by Glen Martin Fitch
The ship boards creak. The rigging sings
And down my cheeks stream mist and spray.
My breath grows fast. My knees feel weak.
As fate speeds me away.
Her eyes, her lips become her face.
The white form I just held, a glow.
The town recedes. The sky looms vast,
As ranks of white-caps grow.
What once was green now fades to blue.
Above the shifting rows of gray.
My heels lift up. The hilltops sink.
I'm bound away, away
From:
8/11
Copyright ©:
Glen Martin Fitch
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011