charles sprague pearce reading by the shore
she brought herself to this place
already knowing
the nonchalant pose
even the title of the book being read
~
last night
she had been reading poetry
and drinking wine
alone
in a small candle-shadowed apartment
drifting aimlessly
in that moment of then
the air moved slowly
through an open window
she could see
rain
falling
thick and golden
in the gaslight flare
~
in this moment of now
she is remembering
holding the rice paper umbrella's
lacquered stiffness
and forming
soft words with her eyes
sand and water
whispering
its coming and going
and she lies
still
as if washed ashore
tangled and overlooked
like so much seaweed
