To A Friend

We are like two hundred year old turtles, left over and
washed, a sea
crawling hesitantly
along a beautiful languid isolated beach
searching to discover and greet each other
on some levelistic soft sound,
symbolistic noun, perhaps?
Or touch someplace familiar
someplace warm,
where we will kinder a remembered thought
or say something optfully haste,
Oh no!
We better move slowly,
slow slowly first
cautious, but underneath
certain that this huge crusty fellows indeed a friend
reveling from the same
cold stares
aloof acquaintances
and cold nights left alone
by the sea,
while underneath
dying a slow death
and as the sun sets,
I see your shadowed body
covering mine
as our hardened shell backs
and heads disappear
into a crustaceaned abode,
the tide crashing back and forth
letting us know
we will meet again

by Bry Barrault

Other poems of BRY BARRAULT (1)

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