At the jetty await for a to-soon belong in heart alone, milky as the opal sky, them replacing hours to the accompanied braid of star’s and jellyfish. The task became the evenings muse, odd that to the adversity, of recommending wait, our game starred for the reach, to recline in enterprising the shallow commence of moon set climb. Most lovingly the rain fled nights, and the warm summer horizon. The tracing tide, made for each a second recount to place not one them a few to fish in a moonlit swell of salty sweet, the last place to remain: in an unearthly ocean breeze, the stately count of one them not, to few jelly a fish to recount in recline a laconic realm.

2019 Adam Blewett ©