the next wave

seeing the wave in my eye wander
there was no where to sit and cry
benches too hard to alone.
beaches to dry spit behind
I raise my left arm to sky
leaving the bees behind
wandering a gander flew the winter
no squawk the flight is often
no boundaries only minds
sitting around getting unadulterated
berated I left fist to sky
and god left back
we went a few rounds
I wonder if he was cheating
I couldn't tell the shoulder left behind
nothing but ladder and no one to blather
hiding their way to the psalms
quashing and qualms
having their way
mixing my summer in winter
finding the sand spit behind
praying a gander
hiding in stalls rolling in grammar
laughter rising till the next wave

denis streeter  5/30/15