Monday, June 23, 2014


Concrete grains indent my skin with
constellations as I sit
on the dock overlooking the lake

The westward sky is a glowing peach

Waves crack against cinder blocks,
shooting mist into the wind

I can see the flapping sails of
boats as the wind takes them

To the east, clouds form
in the darkening sky

I close my eyes and smell the sea;
I cannot smell the rain

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