Shadow whispers

boiled up in the place.


Overtures of innocent violence

stirred idle fingers.


Unbroken sunshine dominated

the blue of deep skies.


A sediment of faces

is a beach of tides.


An undertow washes away colors of us,

revealing old stains.


The street, a hungry animal,

searches to devourer, never full.


I stand at the end of rules, the start and

the finish, just steps between.


Without the seasons I would find no reason

to sit by the ocean and think.


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