The Laughing Tide
What wasn’t once here, drifts in, and with it comes a laughing tide.
These wrinkled belly wraps, undertow weight, anchoring the night.
The dampened logs, smoky mallow forms, fire salt-ended evening.
Bugs crawl across tightly sealed wounds, the mountain peaks subside.
Summer arrives high, the dehydrated taste of a bruised mind.
Ebbing away, she borrows whispers from this tethered life.
A wonderful tidal flow to this GK with the beauty of decay and rot, and memories fading.
Loved it.
Thanks for sharing!
Beautiful!