As the Earth spins us into day and night
and the moon pulls the tides higher and lower,
waves water the bones of another poem
and words cling to paper oceans like wet clothes on skin.
After sunset, this poem becomes the lighthouse.
Written by D. Abboh
Hey there - I'm D. Writer/Storyteller | Creative Non-Fiction | Poetry. I know a little Tai Chi - but my Kung Fu is weak. Email: dabboh76@outlook.com