I dreamt
of faraway

In the sailing,
the tearing of canvas,
the dull thudding
of sea-soaked oars,
I felt shell shards
threaten to pierce
my wayward soles.

Warm sand, sunned
in the early hours,
the tide is touching,
cool fingers, brushing
the browned skin
of my ankles


am I from toil,
strife, or trouble.

“Goodness, it is green here!”

I remark as I step
from sand to moss,
to grass, to vale,
through cool streams
and lakes, now lost,
and circling, these
tallest snowy peaks,
as a billowing gust,
a flight of clouds

…and I was free.

©️ CG Tenpenny, 2023.

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