Imagine lying down on a beach,
watching large, smooth waves come to shore,
and childish wind playing with the surf;
now stop the action, hold the valleys still,
turn the waves into flowing hills,
change the day into early evening,
and sink the sun to those foothills on the left
so the red shines through the water
so the spray is an evening mist
so you see the mountain picture
dusk teased me with just now.

image: po

Dylan Harris

it's my hands
my difficulty with melancholy
hence the coldness
fear in flight, god
dog sea
push pop

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