Compass

Heat-Wave Bay-Waves

The kind day-waves,
brine bearing up
a salt-tang, side-mouth,
dangling out of depth,
blue bay spangling 'chromic,
burning-glass sky,
time running with the tide,
memories looming through,
review, accept, receipt, eschew,
they will renew in lieu;
but o'er the bobbling plain,
where streaks of terns
in tight formation zoom,
the slapping present,
salts all futures.

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