landscape) rolling green hills,
bottles of wine, tall
trees, lots of
civil war dead buried hereabouts
“They died with their surfboards”
              & it’s still November on earth
in buckets
I left my sense of balance on the
west coast
                              only my inherent
              perpetual, stubborn
sense of loss
remains
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
