White Sand


In the geometry
Of blue horizons
And skirting beach
I find a boat
Paint peeling
And silvery
In the coral sand.

In the end
All things bleach:
The wooden seat,
The coral shingle,
The old man
Whose facial stubble
Grows white
As the particulate
He stands upon.


Copyright 2016 Ben Truesdale & distilledvoice

2 thoughts on “White Sand

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