a little boy
nut-brown boy
the softest shell
haunched on crusted rock
dandled by hot barnacled air
and lulled by the slurp of the sea
he weaves tomorrow’s havens
with the dip of a net on a stick
into the glittering aequorial quiet
a caress of lilliput gossamer fronds
leaving trails in his mind that will
guide his way home
when he needs
paulhp poetry 