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

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

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

Lighting my pathway,
brilliant full moon above;
street lamp, just in case.

Baubles on a fence
feeling the chill in the air
it’s Christmas in May.