“The Strand”

“The Strand”

The strand is smooth, straws and silver threads
Extend along a line from every summer’s county fair
To forever’s histories and never mind who’s there;
Unless it’s effortless, what may or may not be seen or said,
Declared or promised, nothing strikes a dénouement
Before the climax, a careless detail wrought before
The action;  mere statement preëccupies horizons. Friction’s cribbage boards
Exist in particles scattered by synergies of natural endowment
In the winds as ever eastward jet streams on a cloudless day;
Circumstances rise but so high above the nimbus thus far
Across a skies’ perceptions yet confined below the collegium of stars,
The temporary aisles of a lasting peace crowns the noisome fray
Howsoever bound as portions of the earth wherein are sown
The greatest veils of mortality the world has ever known.  

Photograph by John Lewis


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