Sea-metaphors

We walked on the beach in the hot afternoon sun
As the sea had reached its  high point of receding
With  dead fish puked in disgust from its fat  belly
And a few  brown mollusks, still sleeping in shells.
The sea seemed to say nothing much in metaphor.

The sands torched feet, yet opened a soft wetness
To a mile-long series of footsteps sinking  as prints
Writing our  history for erasing by the next wave.
But still the sea did nothing to suggest metaphors.

A fishing boat in sight was not much of a metaphor 
Nor a ship lazing  in its giant afternoon drowsiness,
That stayed moored to the sky with a fat deep anchor.
Looking for metaphors we were lost in a sea of words.

 

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