a sea above

it sounds
like a wave

the roof
is serving as a beach
of sorts

tin sheeting
as the sand

the wind
makes the tide rise
softly moaning
makes the tide
ebb away

makes a sigh
of flotsam on the move

and the clouds
are a drifting sea

no end to them
and I think …

no end to them
and I feel …

the ocean
that is above me
is going to rain

is going to rain
forever

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© Frank Prem, 2017

December 2017 Poem #06: spring creek small walk: the wall