The surf trolling,
a foghorn, slight off season
bee.
Children yip across a stone wall
as an engine whipples downhill.
My wife's crisp
pages in the sun. Even a crow.
If that pink cloud,
just before dinner,
is real,
the one next to it, is not.
The surf trolling,
a foghorn, slight off season
bee.
Children yip across a stone wall
as an engine whipples downhill.
My wife's crisp
pages in the sun. Even a crow.
If that pink cloud,
just before dinner,
is real,
the one next to it, is not.