FUSCIA

tangle in the wind
his dreams and hopes
like steam
as mists

and covered in the light veil
of rain
in his brow
on his beard

his misses the turbid
moments
off the north sea
pulling on the oars

they glide in the swells
cupped by the hand of
the ocean

there is hope today
soothed by mead
by lamb

and laughter

(the fuscia dawn
arrived pulled straight
from dreams to a kick
on his boots....awake
beneath the skins..
but he was there...
in her arms..the quiet
one...the seer...she
read him and told him
because she loved him
and he puzzled...read
her..the gifts his father
had.....)