1.14.2005

sandier pass

What we do in the soon to be midnight, one time I had my arm across the banister and billowing. Put my face in apparel. It sounded like a captain, I’ll call him, a glove, while we squinted into the den fire. Terminating the agreement, he quashed. So much for neither sea, I had huge sights right then, a Theory of Contagion, this weathered pelican bill you called "broken" in two places. Nevermind, the juices to your lips were extraordinary. The fish, it seems, poured into. A necklace secured to my sternum, I was all but slaloming where we went, splitting spray on dogheads toddling along. Who assumed a regal almost human shape in the water. We could talk in the box, you and I, like sprites at evening mass and the dogs the dogs following smaller. We could fit them in, we would, walking through two greenhouses.

© Dawn Pendergast