POEMS
Virginia Campbell
GOOD MORNING
Imagine a small
but compassionate island.
Women, like gods in drag,
get up and mend the sails.
Gulls hang in the mist
like rags and boys cast
silver lures as the tide changes.
There are clouds above you,
pale amorphous breasts–
you'll fall into them maybe ...
your arms are weightless
reaching into the waves,
they are lost peninsulas
harboring the last seconds
of something. Six ...
fi ve ... three ... the shadows
of abandoned butterflies
steal across the beach like tears.
A rain upon the skin;
a tiny wind in the ear.
The dunes whisper "give in,"
shifting like hair
across your body.
Now the air is thin
and now the horizon clears.
Blurs fl utter over
the remnants of scenery–
over the sky-blue quilt
and the wavering ridges of your sheet.
And finally the light grows
too aggressive for your dream.
Your eyes open and fall
on the window, through the glass
and into the blinding prison of the trees.
