Issue Five - February 2003

Island Home

By Brooks

The dark
harbors quiet trust

Wind croons through high trees
and joins the tides
to shove debris and treasure 
beyond the water line

Following the edges
of each wave my thoughts
lose content

Loon feathers, 
deep black with white spots,
are caught 
between round wet rocks 

Raven's feet cut
crisp frost into words
of a language 
I am only just learning

Fog unites 
with moist earth 
in wait 
for fading dark 
to expose morning

Tides, light and raven
teach the rhythm 
of this island.

©2003 by Brooks

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