Phantasmagoria

by The Editor

Let’s lay beneath the waves and count the sand
So many are the breaths I spent…like dust beneath our nails
And now, and now the poems are cold and taste like salt
Our tears become the sea
There is a sea inside my heart,
Inside a bottle,
Belonging to the mountain that gave its life for glass.
What has become of all the children we had
Where do they rest their heads now when their parents have gone to seed…
When we trickle between the toes and into the bellies of the starfish
Do they write
Do they read
Do they love strangers that call our children wife
I will go on, and I know that you go on as you go
And on the way we go together beneath the waves
Let us count the sand
Tonight our children sleep beneath the stars and tomorrow they raise the sun again