GFT Press  A Philanthropic Literary And Art Press  

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Donny Barilla

 

Shoreline

 

Sand grabs at feet.

Crisp waves texture both ankle and foot,

           —slice of the horizon.


Birds fleck in ribbons.

Bloodied clouds moan of coming night

in all its regal entropy, promise.


Weeks later,

I reenter the sandy grown

lush carpets of all curving bends and retreat.


Tiny stones 

           sketch the heavy 

                 shoreline.