Patterns

On the beach sand were webbed feet of patterns
And unshod feet, one after the other, of walkers
Upon a rising sea of memories on  moonlit night.

A hum went on like the breath of a sleeping child.
Its sound patterns were like those of shore palms,
Largely specters of lonely trees with wind in hair.

Behind them were abandoned custom warehouses
Of old brick patterns visible through flakes of time.

A liquid moon stood at the center of white clouds
The serrated patterns ruled out possibility of rain.

Green fish nets formed a sea-like wave patterns
With dark fishermen who sat on their haunches
Mending broken nets with honeycomb patterns.

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