Angela Dye

Sea Leaves

As the closed clouds shrug tight, hug chalk,
talk night around the black, blue balking sea,
she cups broken screams  in moon-flit huddle.
Puddle whorling cyclone of endless friendless tea,
see misfortune of flip rip waves. Then more waves
shave lips of ribbon: slip stream into silver stairs.
Scares into a sea-sky, bold, wet fold upon fold
rolled with a million starless, cold, grave cares.
Hair tangled in the bleak, black, break and smack,
brack crack of the iron scarf of the whip wild wind.
Blind as the closed clouds shrug tight, hug chalk,
talk night around the black, blue balking sea.

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