Words streaming
in oblivion
lost among the grey surf,
sentences paused
in the slow ripples cascading towards us,
drenched in sultry tones
of real time,
bathed in grey,
we tinkle with each gush,
soaked in temptation
and an enduring stream
of mistaken cues,
the water receding from our toes,
we look beyond the horizon,
beyond our last thought.
(c) Emer Davis
Bunnacurry Poet 