ice lake ache for summer wind’s ruffled touch
Frozen plum tomato bricks bound with garlic mortar hold the line on winter, valiant soldiers sending summer love notes.
There is not track enough for my train to ride straight through. Night windows blank to the black outside only reflect the shadows in.
sea grass glitter splinters sun diamond shards
Once-a-year cherry blooms blot the paths in Spring shadows. No weighty midsummer dapples here, just treesful of vernal eclipses. Looking up, one pink blossom would fit just the “O” of my mouth. I could swallow them all and bring back the sun.
Unwrapping sticky skin paper from fresh garlic is a summer Christmas present.
Fat Andy genuflects over weekenders’ windshields (great spot, right!), scans dashboard detritus and tries the passenger handle – the Sunday loafer mating dance.
The sunset pasture lake reflects a counterfeit light, water penny legal tender until dark.
It was my lucky day. New beach grass darted, herring-bright, before the wind by the Highland Light. The swan wings’ turbine rush whistles white on the darkling dusk. Shooting star, path – oh, oh, oh, Look! – long enough for you to wish on half-a-skies twinkling dust.
Side-armed dash dash / dot dash, a man skips rocks at sunset, puts some topspin on that message before it sinks.