Room with a View

House of all seasons.

All seasons, turned willy-nilly.

Salt-mist crystalized one month: azure lenses the next.

The entire curved ocean a stage to gaze upon.

Storms were best, with their hiss and slap of surf.

Sharp cracking strafe of current-honed pebbles.

Bay window-watching, mug in hand.

All topsy-turvy on the Buckled floor

In this building slowly turning to driftwood.

Atop a green- shod

Basement groaning with the sea.

 

Copyright Tom Tide2017

 

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