Susan Scutti
a ship travels disconsolately toward the horizon
while on the shore
a child traces an abortive figure into
wet sand with the toe of his left foot
beneath the rippling surface there are no faces
no language and no sins
Susan Scutti
a ship travels disconsolately toward the horizon
while on the shore
a child traces an abortive figure into
wet sand with the toe of his left foot
beneath the rippling surface there are no faces
no language and no sins
This one is quite thought provoking.
Nice!
This is beautiful, insightful, and tightly, yet lyrically, composed. Yes, it’s composed.