Old Bones

The white bones of our dreams
uncover, lie bare
when the tides are drawn back
by the Man in the Moon

Your heart floated beneath mine
From my throat, your voice used to weep.
I was the surf
caressing your shore
the seas
lifting you high.

My wave rises, curls,
in its search,
but only old bones
tumble beneath
the reach of my wake.

Pris Campbell

Artwork: Birds on A Beach 
   by Ansel Adams
Music: In Memory of Trees by Enya

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