The tempest

The tempest brought more
than rain, sprinkling magic
on marble-topped memories
that called from a dream
still shipwrecked. The sun tries
to break the spell but hope
flourishes in the light & she enjoys
showing off her tan. Though the tide
may wash visitors ashore or pull
other spirits out of a hat, she drinks
me in wearing tails.

In the wind

We sing along with the wind
as it pampers our skin, seasoned
from days in the sun. The leaves
rustle in accompaniment
as if the evening knew the rhythm
already. Perhaps
it merely borrows the tune
from us,
breath tied together on the breeze.

With the tides

The sea is high again
today, with a thrilling flush
of wind that circles us
like the willows that weep
around the lines we draw
in the dirt.
She wears
her wrinkles when she smiles
to remind me the world
circles heavenly bodies
in its own time.

The tide
goes low if we wait long enough
& still the stars circle her
hair dancing on the air
so we wade deeper tomorrow.

She swims

She swims in the air, afloat
but not adrift, aloft but
not aloof. She moves
with purpose, as if her lungs inflate
from helium only she knows
is there.

She swims & swims

swims among the oceans
of clouds whose undertow
pulls west where she can find
her fortune

swims but never loses
her way as I hang from a constellation
growing larger with each stroke.


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About Me

Phillip Knight Scott is a native of Durham, North Carolina, where he lives, writes, and watches old episodes of Doctor Who. He’s only recently published his first collection of poems: Paint the Living, Plant the Dead. His poems have appeared in numerous publications including Galway Review, Vita Brevis Press, Olive Skin, Spillwords, and others.

His debut novel, The Alien in the Backseat, is available on Amazon.

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