Hobe Sound

[tectak]

Hi true,
I love it in spite of a quite remarkable resemblance to Opiteff. Seriously. Better all ways. The title works for the poem, not instead of it. Great. Few nits...mostly pedantic. That's me.
Tectak

Suppose I said the colors do not blend
together like they did with you around;I would be happier if you accepted this as a "list" of supposes. So comma

the blues don't match the breakers in Hobe Sound,...and here
the ocean's unrealistic.-- would you thenNow get rid of the period/dash combination. What the hell is that? Start the next sentence on "Would..."

return to hold my hand, to paint the sand?
My fingers shake and bristles scrape the ground

beyond the palms, the fields, the church, the town.
I cut a jagged scar into the land.Just bloody beautiful

You could paint the music in the pines,
and birdsong in the skies, suppose I said...skies. Suppose I said,

it is impossible to shade these lines!
They dry too fast, and chip away. Instead

I wonder which are yours entwined in mine,
while I engrave the stone above your head.Hey...Epitiff would be a goo...forget it. It's a keeper. Bold workshopping pays real dividends. Well done!><










Second edit:


Suppose I said the colors do not blend
together like they did with you around --
there's too much grey, the way it boils down,
this ocean's unrealistic -- would you then
return, and guide these hands that paint the sand?

My fingers shake and bristles scrape the ground
beyond the palms, the fields, the church, the town.
I cut a jagged scar into the land.

You could paint the music in the pines,
and birdsong in the skies, suppose I said,
it is impossible to shape these lines!
They dry too fast, and chip away. Instead,
I wonder which are yours, entwined in mine,
while I engrave the stone above your head.










Edit per milo

Suppose I said the colors do not blend
together like they did with you around --
there's too much grey, the way it boils down,
this ocean's unrealistic -- would you then
return, and guide these hands that paint the sand?

My fingers shake and bristles scrape the ground
beyond the palms, the fields, the church, the town.
I cut a jagged scar into the land.

You could paint the music in the pines,
and birdsong in the skies, suppose I said
to you, this is impossible! The lines
made by the brush just chip away. Instead,
I wonder which are yours, and what are mine,
while I engrave the stone above your head.




Original Post:

Suppose I said the colors do not blend
together like they did with you around --
there's too much grey, the way it boils down,
this ocean's unrealistic -- would you then
return, to teach me how to paint the sand?

My fingers shook and bristles scraped the ground
beyond the palms, the fields, the church, the town.
I cut a jagged scar into the land.

You who could paint the music in the pines,
and birdsong in the skies, suppose I said
to you, this is impossible! The lines
left by the brush just chip away. Instead,
I wondered which were yours, and which were mine,
while I engraved the stone above your head.