My True Home   I come from the ocean, depths of turquoise water that spins pearls from sand-silk sheets for its bed, small moons to light my way through coral woods. I walk these callous shores, long only to return.   Wrinkled Lines   I sit with old poems and cry at all they say but, even more, for all that they cannot.

Return to the front page of this issue:   Amaze   Vol. 6, No. 1   Go to the Poets & Authors page for the poet's biographical sketch and email link. All poems are copyright © 2008 by their respective authors.