the wharf

A metaphor. This poem was written at a time of decision. Hmmm  you have to read the end of the poem  .  Can you think of a time when your toes curled, fumbled on the edge?  Did you dive in?

 

the wharf

is safe to stand on
or dive off

into the wet
feel my body
my whole face in

after the first stir
ripples of warmth
would spread like waves
bliss with the touch
and taste a new landscape

infinite possibilities of treasure
no feel for oysters sharp on rocks

the blue-green summers’ ocean
murmurs come play
my toes curl   fumble
on the grey weather-dried edge

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