Bobbing for pips

I am approaching the threshold of my grief
That dismal dawn where words break –
Fast over stale feelings
Like waves on a rock-ridden shore.
This stilled tongue tunes no trills for sorrow,
Sigh-chapped lips, no plosive feasts
But my ragged pen thirsts
For consonants, vowels
Forming words, eyes closed,
Half-asleep, I drift,
Tossed upon the foam
As one who drowns for air
And breathes only memory.

One thought on “Bobbing for pips

  1. I woke up, all kinds of giddy today, which is a holiday here, not just any old holiday, but a holiday on a Monday, and my elation only grew when I saw your post… and then I read this, and now I have this feeling of foreboding… well, I just cannot describe it.
    My goodness, you have power.

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