Could I Stay Alone For a Month

on that sere coast, that lone shack
along the North Sea I glimpsed
from a tourist bus,  stuck there
like light on a starless night
turned to sun at dawn near to
where the waterís green at the edge,
purple further out,  crags alongside
black pools that hold up the clouds
so they donít fall into snow,
and the landís upside down
like a Rorschach?   Where do wishes

come from?   Like a Rorschach
stripping me naked,  Iíd be revealed
in two days for the coward I am, afraid          
the greedy waves could suck
my heart out to sea and sink it.
Every coastline holds a waking dream.
When youíve reached the end of land,
you expect to be done with it.
Iíve lived here ten years and waiting.
Itís January.   Iím starting again,
my pantry stocked, shoes by the door.


Asylum   acrylics, resins, Polaroids on canvas
Copyright 2006, Carolyn Krieg

Copyright 2011,  Florence Weinberger

Florence Weinberger is the author of four poetry collections:  The Invisible Telling Its ShapeBreathing Like a JewCarnal Fragrance,  and Sacred Graffiti.    Twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize,  her poetry has appeared in numerous literary magazines,  including Rattle The Comstock ReviewThe Los Angeles ReviewAnother Chicago MagazineNimrod,  and many anthologies.

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