Twelve
The hat drops over his ears, bill straight, uncurved, a slight angle to the side though not yet the full teen rake. He’s turning twelve
The hat drops over his ears, bill straight, uncurved, a slight angle to the side though not yet the full teen rake. He’s turning twelve
By day the light upon water is brilliant and bright, securing the outlines of what is safe and real. by night, now shimmering the moon
The sound of your voice lifts the autumn wind, a golden light quickening, as the almost dead rise from their obsession into dew-soaked grass, trembling
When wind and sea collide a third way will be found, of eddy line beside jagged rock, where water shapes a counter flow to release