Gazing out, Quiet
Is the touch of a sunbeam on my shoulder
The familiar crême shade of
Thursday morning pumpkin spice lattes
Parallels the clouds’
Color, tide’s scampering in and out,
Those clouds the ocean. Waves
Tickle my mountain’s edges, she
Laughs, I
Smile, layers of peaks recede into
The fog. Look down at your
Feet, lift the left one
Or the right
And call into the vast white abyss of
Pumpkin spice latte cream,
Maybe you’ll wash up upon Camel’s
Hump Island
Just as the sun rises and the leaves
Change.
Posted in response to the challenge PAST CONTESTS: Fall '23: Writing.
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