All this time, I thought
the words of your soul were mine to know...
Soft sand sifted
through fumbling fingers of discernment;
feet entrenched in the silken sauce
of the ocean's spread eagle margin.
Bright summer's day, belonging not to me.
Still, I plunged into this glimmering gullibility.
I did not sense the distance traveled
from your blanket-strewn existence;
nor the undulating undertow of power, playing
my limbs with taunting, teasing tugs.
I did not sense the warning winds
of the gathering gloom--the silence,
but for nervous gulls of grace,
hovering, circling, looming,
crying out Fooooll Fooooll,
tossing me their crumbs of despair.

-Michael D. Petti

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