on the shores of my island
are rocks
and stones with sharp
teeth
do not come
with bare feet
if you can invent wings
try putting them on
i am a friend of birds
and all that
is taking the softness
and blues
of clouds
the breeze puts the music
to my shells
they are all empty
the hermits are dead.
RIC S. BASTASA
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-shores-of-my-island/
