First poem of summer

Like all lake side pebbles, stones

I become restless. The sea

is not from here and I am not from the sea

 

though I know what blue is and

waves that shatter the shore, a slow

shatter of my smooth surface

 

of the sky that cannot help

but grin back. It is a hopeless

thing, this touch of water

 

and air. Sometimes I wish

I could float out, far toward an

island that I can never see

 

and speak some language

so distant and cunning

that I could never get back.

 

(first draft)

This is what happens when I start reading about postmodern poetry for my comps. I totally start writing poems. It is like when I read about pedagogy, I totally start revising my own. Hopefully all this work pays off as much as any type of note taking would, which of course I am also doing.