I dreamt
of faraway
shores.
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
…gone…
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.
