Leaving

Who can tell when

the single drop

disappears into the

infinite of the

tide pool leaking

its life into

the grey and blacks

of the ocean’s

ward?

Swimming in the

gold and ambers

of cheap Russian

beer,

a deluge of singles

fill a space

that has no

real boundaries

to hold them.

Nothing can stop

the feminine

ebb that

compels the

sands to shift

under the light

of the moon,

cratered and

meek,

lit from

borrowed light.

Composed 04/09/14

Author’s Note: I missed a few days for the NaPoWriMo challenge, and continue to miss more. I was a little bummed when I wrote this, and I think I might be getting a bit redundant with my images and lines, but I figure it turned out alright.