Swimmer_7 Poetry (3)

it took forever to my find my forever
a metaphorical mooring by sea
it was a tougher search to find her
and if you’d ask her I’m sure she’d agree

the beach is a natural kilometre
I trusted the distance by guile
we planned our dream house together
I knew that she’d furnish in style

at 5am each morning
as the dew makes kings of the grass
I’m stretching and preparing to enter
a sea that’s the colour of glass

the gulls sing high pitched and often
plunging and rising again
a fox is eating my flip flops
and discovers they’re more than size 10

I sit on the rocks when I’m done in
and chase my breath till I see
a cup of hot steaming coffee
improbably right next to me

they said misfortune stalked you.. they said that life was hard
in the genetic school of poker
you were dealt the hardest card

a rogue gene: you misshapen henceforth they would detect
but all I see is beauty
in the poster I inspect

it was hard for me to process
I was new in town
I'd left a girl for the colour
of a certain wedding gown

she wanted picket fences
guess I was too remote
the only berth to interest me
was on a fishing boat

then I saw you in this poster
your eyes two drops of rain
I saw a man recoil from you
as if you held some blame

you followed me around town
I saw your face amongst the stars
I began to see you everywhere
in the licence plates of cars

you removed the night's wallpaper
to paint the air with sky
your beauty far too certain
to entertain a lie

so thank you girl for the memory
of the sky that melted blue
and all the pieces of your person.. stuck together with God's glue

I later met a Finnish angel
who photographed the wind
I sometimes see you in her work
as joy and kindness twinned

a lubberline in rougher seas
a searing bolt of spark
a poster hung inside my head
a friend in times of dark

the day was sketched
time added air
with roughened strokes
in spaces

the sea inhaled
sands grew
around memories
bivouacked

a swept stroke emblazoned
on a hidden horizon
counterbalanced
by the edges

mushroom umbrellas bloom
licked by salt
and the rays
of technique

lines and curves
superimposed
over
whiteness

and the shell of us
stretched
by the crab
of ennui

I thought you were made
of grey texture
a thick impasto
dipped in methylate

we meandered on wet canvass
pursued
by deadline

viewed by
strangers
within
and without

hanging
in isolation

our own chiaroscuro