Acceptance
Breakers tipped with foam and gold,
a clean sharp wind,
the roll and dip and creak
of a sailing ship,
salt upon the skin and lips,
horizon everywhere
around us then.
Mountain snow falls deep into hollows,
across rutted roads, bending pines,
making of land another sea,
silence broken only by the wind
or a limb's whisper as it falls.
Deer lift their heads.
Mist swirls above the river,
the souls of the dead they say.
Marsh birds call muffled questions
above lapping water.
Sound is a slow drum
that becomes the rain.
Sue Scalf
http://www.members.aol.com/poetscalf
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