High Tide

The moon drips

skitter bugs,

on dusty beams

skating surf,

–sandaling bare feet

that climb Escher stairs

carved in castles

made of sand,

and built on rock.


Humid air without breath


Human hands without


its sticky close duct tape

of overwhelm



Untested stars


flicker and fade

with confounding

autonomous energy and

my skin


my skin!


grows too tight to bear.

About Charron's Chatter

I bring to you an arrow, whole, Use it, or break it, But if you choose to take it --Know-- With it also, I will go. © Karen Robiscoe @1992

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