Restoratives
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.
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