Labor Dazed

My bent neck

rivals sunflowers

at the fence.

Grandchildren

hand me shovels

to bury the week.

Lost journals,

unkempt shelves,

subscriptions lapsed.

The latter life of letters

curls in an aqua surf

to sound the beach.

The summer’s end

teaches toes

to grip the cliff.

Holidays spray blue

until sunset,

then rose the sky.

Our bottled message

floats across age.

Knees need play

to stay young,

gulls sing

on the wing.

Will SchmitComment