Where The Tall-Grass Grows

Photo by Ian lavrinovich on Pexels.com

Blades slice the land wide into a gaping maw,
stroking your thighs in the sea breeze,
coughing a salty tang that dries your tongue,
as cackling gulls flow in the westerly wind—
circling the lighthouse,
sketching a bold white line on blue paper,
as though saying
you’ve made it here.

What do you think? Let me know in the comments below, or by liking and sharing! Don’t be afraid to share your opinion!

© Thomas Gallimore Barker, 2021



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