light in window opposite unmade
yellow and blue bed
shadowed pink roses above fence in
right foreground
available correspondence, two and
a half times that
is, kind of knowing from, let
alone thought come to
fleeting meditations something
like the wind, voice
so distant that it seems to be
part of earth itself
grey whiteness of fog against
still invisible ridge
line of pelicans flapping to the
right toward point
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