The Writers' Circle

At the brink
of sleep;

The sea,
calm and -
to the side -
the sun.

A cave,
a corpse decayed
and claws;

A whale
gloriously arcs
from the sea

and falls;

I've been here
before.

Far away an island
and
- suddenly closer -

doors.

The beast is near.


It climbs,
the pebbles fall.

Monkey call
and parrot caw.

Quick! Slam the door.

A boat.

The beach.

My key!

My oar?

1996