Coal Oil Point No. 12
On the edges there is tall grass to dance by morning and evening wind a chemistry of meat and sea mist in her walk a poise of sudden rainstorms blown across seasons. I am following this girl. Days of tin and dust dry clouds of bougainvillea blow out to chained ships waiting unattended. They are like whales like bells built to echo and to sail away. I watch this girl who knows me walk out on the pier.