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11 October, 2012

Yet dark

   the morning air cradles the ocean in its hands

   and tosses bits of it like wilting rose petals into the sluggish breeze

      itself barely awake

I hear the hissing of showers

   and the thumping car doors of hard chargers

      eager and fearful

Power pole insulators fuss and sizzle

   electrocuting the incautious dew

      even as I fuss and struggle to burn away the dew of sleep

        reluctantly foregoing its mercy

There are no stars

   no birds yet sing

I wander onto the highway

   and drone up the sodden coast

      wondering how the summer fell so suddenly ill


From → Stories & Poetry

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