Break
Spring in Southern California has
a more predictable rhythm.
Tumble of waves and
pulse of tides.
Buckets and shovels and
ridiculous beach suits,
our color punctuates the
marine layer,
little feet pound wet earth,
siblings in arms,
found burrowed in
yesterday's hole,
our days a watercolor
of fluid and simple
movements,
our smooth
breath when
together and away.
2 comments:
love them, love you, love the poetry!!
I could not resist commenting. Perfectly written!
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