The Barnacle Says

I am a lunar crater on a gray whale’s back,
a lightening bolt on the Bering Sea.
I am hailstorms stinging Pacific swells,
baby fog drifting on hidden lagoons.

I am feathers that tickle el Niño,
a calm morning before the storm,
the wing of a dove as it lands on a branch,
a curl of smoke from distant lands.

I am the silent breath of a slow ride,
the chill in the air, an alpine moon,
a shiny nickel found on the sand.
I am antique paper rolled in a bottle,

faded letters scratched in blood.
I am the tip of a whittled stick,
the thoughts that drift out to sea
and return with the incoming tide.

***

Day 4. I wrote this poem using a few words for colors found on paint chip samples, the idea for my prompt currently up at Read Write Poem. I’ve used this idea before with some amusing results. Sometimes the names for colors on those paint samples are beyond the pale… . I also wrote about an animal for Poetic Asides.