Wheel

The tides contain themselves
rhythmic, the ferris wheel has a similar consistency
the people gaze from the arc with a new view
watching the small scuttles below them
watching the waves in slow silent motion
seeing the new waves long before the ground locked others

Post it

This is my fridge magnet
to the world
that shutters cannot shut out the morning sun
that the mist of the Atlantic
can seep into and fog the mind
the ears of a child can listen for missing beats
in a heartfelt hug
a boy can sit on a rock, playing a flute
we can all hear him
the tears we once cried for our own absences
are now the tears cried for that boy, mirrored in our self worth

Stone Soup

Forming the core
drawing down
the basil, the butternut
swirling the nutmeg
is my heart, sinking like a flavoured stock rock
into the warmth of the steaming soup

auditory, visual

When I hear her
eating her peanut butter sandwich
with a blocked nose
breathing heavily through her mouth
your face falls away in front of me
like a thousand burning teardrops

Day dreaming

In this crossword lined with fortunes, Fortuners

I put my head down

and see a singing sea

a tribal dance drummed out 

by the fireside of the Kalahari

clouds gaining grey force over the dirt

night swimming

your dreams are shipwrecked
paint washed bleached
corners sharpened
boxed in the sea, floating unidentified

Autumn

she releases her feet
falls back
into the pile of golden leaves
with complete faith
as is she is falling into a tidal pool
of belly bubbling laughter