Pentacles

For NaPoWriMo a tritina about pentacles.

 

Beneath the sea the sand is silver dark,

Pale pentacles wave blind among the weeds,

Where sunlight’s solace never ever falls.

 

Beneath the moon a silent river falls,

Slips slick and sleek from silver light to dark,

Swallowed by pentacle-fronded weeds.

 

Whiskered creatures wearing widows’ weeds,

Crawl in the tide and creep beneath the falls,

Their suckered-fingers draw light into dark.

 

Dark are the weeds where no light falls.