old wooden deck chairs
sit side by side,
overflowing with soft pillows,
a blanket,
facing the misty dawn,
fog lifting higher through the pine trees,
the distant calm waters,
scents of salty air and forests.
One
steaming cup of coffee
sits alone
on the small table
between the chairs,
beside it a slender pen
keeps the place in the journal
that lies open
to an interrupted entry.
Everywhere
the taste of longing.
© 1 february 2020 phyllis boernke
Maybe your reading of this poem was not at all as I have suggested. Maybe it was quite an impersonal reading of words alone. This is not a test of your reading skills or your ability to interpret the words. It can be an insight into how you witness scenes, events, people, feelings. It's an inquiry......