Light daggers
Crimson, purple, gold
Slice at the heart of a Broad Creek Sunset
Sol slowly surrenders to the Low Country night
Bidding farewell with a dying glow that backlights a cloud fuzz horizon
Evening tide recedes
Baring it’s fangs of cracked shell and seaweed
There is something for me here in these elemental rhythms
This pulse of earth and sea
But its import escapes me
I hear only whispers of waves lapping at the shore
And a solitary seagull
Cackling in amusement
At my search for deeper meaning
-----
Jim Carson is an Architect living in Atlanta with his wife, daughter and Snickers the wonder dog. His work has been published in numerous journals and includes poems published at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Southern Fried Weirdness, Dew on the Kudzu, Clapboard House and Pocket Change (of which he has received little for his work). He can be reached at jcarson@ncgarch.com.
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