High and Dry

adrift in the chroma
 and lush flotsam of summer
bound in a landlocked ache,
just like me


3 thoughts on “High and Dry

  1. a chorus of milkweed

    we are at the stern
    and we hear someone say turn
    into the wind
    we hear someone say burn
    into where the roots
    can get you in
    we hear the waves
    we hear the knaves
    we here are brave enough
    to lap the tides of land
    to lock our hair to stand
    letting down, laying down
    finding the compass of crowns
    that mid-summer is rowing
    towards Autumn with

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