(she’s not all that fond of feet)
The ticking of the clock is off;
her feet are tired, and waning.
Creep close, stand back.
The only thing she craves is sea,
a salted skin for staining.
Moon up, sun down.
Spilled stars, her crown.
How many tocks since she’s begun?
How many steps left, waiting?
Two feet, a sail;
trades toes for tail.
She breathes in gills.
The earth stands still.
This quiet spill is all she knows
as heart beats blue and off she goes
……………..to paint herself in indigo.
Victoria has us playing with meter over at dVerse. Come play.