Shoes unlaced, socks inside out, left on a car seat.
Trouser legs: one two: rolled up.
Prints in pairs press soft sand. Onshore the wind blows, steals a childlike
chuckle, throws it over storm bashed garden walls.
Rain drives sidewards, cold as pebbles.
The café is open. Soup is waiting.
At night the moon crescent rests over clouds: the glimpsed belly of a
genie.
Yes, yes, yes! I LOVE it.
ReplyDeleteMe too. :) I feel like I always walk away with something lovely each time I stop by here. Merci Lisa.
ReplyDelete'the glimpsed belly of a genie.'
ReplyDelete!!
Thank you my lovely ladies! I wished for a nice restful day and got it: that's why the moon looked like a genie to me! Hope I've got the full three wishes :-) xx
ReplyDelete