
Staring at coffee
waiting for the clouds to part,
for my path to form.

Staring at coffee
waiting for the clouds to part,
for my path to form.

The surfers convene:
brewing up a thunderstorm,
shady clouds gather.

All over the land,
gaping wounds and bleeding hearts—
cut trees; paper cuts.

The road stretches on,
green grass on the other side—
the trick of promise.