Tuatara (Locust 3)
Broken reptiles
Drag tortured dance
Circles on a broken beach,
Beaten by waves and sun
And insects' feet.
Waiting while blood like pitch
Smears itself recklessly, unnoticed,
Across blank rock faces
And twisted, straggling brush.
Waiting, and nothing else but
The surge and roar of surf
And swiftly shrinking moons,
Waiting; crushed and sliding,
Vibrantly one with the force of life . . .
Waiting.
© 2005 Sorn Skald
- This poem is in the Common Domain and may be
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