The chains creak
As widows seek
Blue shored harbors
Only to find a lone
Seagull stood still,
Waiting on the vacant
Coastline with eyes
Of narrowed wit from
Tightropes in the wind.
A thin line climbs
Ladders with binded
Gills of a fish who
Was outcasted from
A sharp tipped hook,
Capacity shortened
From outdrawn foolery.
Winding crossroads
Sever beams that
Tear and scrape
Against rocks of
Harnessed edges.
Shadows envision
Lights from falling
Stars that search
Endlessly through
Relentless seams.
…
The carousel creaks
By the darkened clock.
A faded wheel bends
In a timeless fog of
Rockside rivers.
…
Yet silently still the
Seagull keeps watch
On the dusted bay.
Waiting for the
Carousel to creak
One final time by
The starlit clock
In the darkness,
As the silence rings
Through fickleness.
. . .
So turmoil breathes
Again.