light in window opposite unmade
yellow and blue bed
quail clicking next to fallen
cypress in foreground
came together, from until made
last before thoughts
called “world,” distances in
which, more than space
man hiking down trail in sunlight
baby bird in mind
singing sweet song everything’s
going to be alright
grey whiteness of fog against
still invisible ridge
line of pelicans flapping to the
right toward point
No comments:
Post a Comment