An image I miss appeared after the first line of Norman Dubie's "Of Politics, & Art", and I chased it for today's RWP prompt. The image is utterly unlike his piece. I think. There is nothing deep here, not even the water. You can walk for miles without wetting your belly.
Here, on the farthest point of the peninsula
roots point knees to scorching canopies
or flay out over little worlds of sand and
swells. Buttons run trades before tides
slowly rush space between bars with blue,
congregating hermits on the brackish edge.
Fuzzy fingers hold pentamerismic tests, within
snuggle the five doves of Aristotle's lantern.
The sky's greedy eyes scan flits of splashes
for long trawls, short gulps, sprays behind.
Vines alive drape paralyzed by all filling warmth.
Laced gray fingers run locks up flat breezes
cupping silk spinners and night fliers 'till dusk
when heat roars down and shifts into the waters.
Cricket song and wing song and tiny percussives
and cymbal leaves reverse flow of air and action.
Shimmering lights cannot tell up from down and
disappear into the heart of orchestral pitch
beating up and down without sight until light
is bounced upwards again on nature's knees.
And yes, sand dollars really hold five doves within their test, and the doves make up Aristotle's lantern. I adore sand dollars.