What were the hymns that buzzed beside my ears?
I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw
There is no moon, on single, silvered leaf.
These lines are swift and fall without diverging.
The melon-flower nor dew nor web of either
A sheaf of brilliant arrows flying straight,
Their pleasure that is all bright-edged and cold,
You know then that it is not the reason
—William Carlos Williams
toes buried in warm white sand,
balmy winds abound.
Little blue pillow
teeters by the tall bed post
as we play footsies.
Swift fingers now slow,
frostbitten in the snowy
Cold blue-green waves curl
softly break through the pinkish