The puddle started raining
A dance involute
Plied intro into the dazing
Commencement to the hazing
I found a wave and will waste no time
he told sea stories to us by sundown’s last shiver of summer light, seemingly true accounts up front in the rover, while we road tripped deeper into the peninsula….he was 26, melding into a windswept 27. every song on the radio seemed to be about the simplicity of surfing and freedom. i wrapped the serape tighter to me, window down, and my hair didn’t need sally hershberger’s help to get beachy.
every color a drop of liquid focus. clarity even seemed clearer, the purple was a throne of regal on the passing patch of crocus
we all had more of something, wave rich, enveloped in our linguistic secret lisp
I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year….