We’ve left the beach alone in its shadow,
the ocean with its faded waves,
no bathers, sailboats anywhere.
What a summer it’s been—
the pale blue watches stretching in the heat
to affix themselves to memory,
melting their movements for a while,
the sweet secretions of our words
like ants crawling on a metal heap.
The dreamer lies saddled in the dream,
a stranded sea horse, swelled and riderless,
that keeps us semi-soft within its frame.
Our hands point bravely to the clinging hours
wanting to recollect themselves before the fall,
with some slight semblance of regret.
More poetry from Askold Skalsky
Askold Skalasky is a former community college professor whose poems have appeared in numerous small press magazines and journals, most recently in freefall and The Dos Passos Review.