Beach House ~ Amy

I’m not sure whether that
throaty whisper
is the sound
of jungle insects
or the breath of a Japanese girl
deep in sleep.

Earlier, they watched TV.
While we admired the spidery palms
against an inky sky
and discussed dinosaurs
as tiny vials of blood
squealed about our ears.

We wondered how they could watch TV.
Shut in a little box of wood
and rotating air…
When out there
you could hear the blind waves breaking
and feel a thousand tiny hearts
beating as one.

Amy Austen

As a travel writer, reviewer and content writer, writing has taken her around the world, around the palate, and around the mind.

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