Wish you were here postcard

Somewhere, hidden in the clouds
the sun eats its heart
and I am here, barefoot
circling your barefeet,
saying the sand only begins
to polish my hidden words.

Offshore, the dung covered rocks
are now giant icebergs
floating in the waves
with a host of pelicans holding on;
and the cormorants, reaching far forward
into their flight, are arrows
that have nowhere else to go
but back and forth in a mystery play
created just for us.

Ah, and when the clouds finally do pull back,
the light grey and dark water depths
will catch us rehearsing on the sand,
failures at drawing angels.