how we desert sprites grew into

sharks, i’ll never know:

creatures of the depths that roam

without ceasing, that cannot stop

for fear of sinking death


Does the sea envy land

its solidity? Does it tire of the

dip and crest and break, and dream

a restless dream of ancient rock?


Is it why, from time to time it

hauls back and overreaches, jealously dragging

unwitting earth away to its

fretful bed, to rest but

never settle


and is it saying, when it rattles through

the comfortable moorings of

indolent boats: if i am never to be still,

why you?


or is it us,

we little sharks still longing for the land,

that quake the ocean

with our mortal fear?

Image: Caleb George


12604884_938045556278844_8510716116722563605_o (1) copyJane Symonds is an alleged poet, would-be novelist and actual fundraiser. Read more of her words at

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