Recall how our canoe crept
along that breezy lakeshore,
its wake in the darkening water
sparkling as the sun sank
beneath orange and rose clouds.

Gales of hermetic dreams abrade
fulsome shores of our shaitans;
lightning-glittered clouds glare
scarlet and black recollections.

Wavelets, wherever they washed
the gently sloping shore,
said, “Thip, thip — thip, thip,”
as they marked memories
on the shifting sand.

Tempests scrub debris-littered scarp;
their pounding roar shocks;
castaways cast off jetsam,
yet more to be scoured away.