Rain Force

the pock-marked sand explodes,
the wind torn sea grass decomposes
with odours rich in death
and vegetable destitution.
The rain has churned and curled
The hurrying seasons
Ready in their versions
to shine over and uncover
Earth's bones
and leaking underground.
Bright here on the beach
is the plan for coming
sunsets.

by jane heart

Other poems of HEART (24)

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