We were crazy then
living like nomads
encamped on the sands
riding the fins of whales
into the day.
We crept under the rising sun
keeping the company of gulls,
the world lavender and feathered
itchy from the bites of beach crabs.
We were the angels dancing
on the head of the pin
the old theologians argued about.
You carved the faces of god in wood
and divinity leered from walls
buttered with morning sun.
Poems fell from my lips and
my hands bled colors onto canvas.
We didn’t know it couldn’t last.
photo by Brian Fitzgerald
http://pbase.com/talkingrag
