Beachhead

Beachhead

At the wrong end of the morning
On the wrong side of the week
With reason slowly dawning
And sleep lost in such speak

With images that streak on through
Woke hearts and tired minds
The spaces souls meander to
The faces that they find

The buoys we cling to, 'midst such storms
When tides push in so deep
Pulling, undertows are formed
In tides so rippled, steep

Tides that pull, residual
Push in no matter what
Waves roll in on schedule
We surf in self made lots

We watch, as currents ebb and flow
They eddy and they ride
As mornings... weekends, come and go
At errant ends... and sides