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title
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

DL Pravda


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June Barefoot

Walking with two-inch ripples on firm, wrinkled sand.
When you're taller than waves, you see how
they carry light. You see how wind breaks the surface
and how sun shatters into friendly lightning.
A grimy fisherman with a rod on his back
says he got arrested last night. I don't ask why
he wants to share. The giant jetty keeps the beach
from the bridge traffic. The road turns north.
We still don't know what the bay is worth,
but it's more than any interstate. People crawl
to work. I walk the water road. Sand cliffs crash.
Clouds dash. What comes from ash? Everything.