A foretaste of Fall.
At high tide the cove moon-calm,
ducks barely moving.
No point in going
home to face my desk stacked with
the usual bills.
My visiting fly
will be waiting for me; it
knows I don’t kill flies.
A foretaste of Fall.
At high tide the cove moon-calm,
ducks barely moving.
No point in going
home to face my desk stacked with
the usual bills.
My visiting fly
will be waiting for me; it
knows I don’t kill flies.