Gulls at low tide,
unconcernedly
quiet.

Weather’s
the only
explanation.

 

__________________

 

Driven
        inland

       (downpour’s
approach)

we cross
       yellow roses

       thriving
among

dull
brush.

 

__________________

           

Stalled here,
we argue.

Our words
dislodge
fog.

                                               

__________________         

                                                           

Obdurate
waver,

my late
portrait,

take
your eyes

made of
a world

I don’t
know

what
to make of.

 

__________________

 

The
ocean

reasserts
itself.

Each
wave

makes
a crater.