Quiet, you know,
in tidy couplets.

Contrasts, penance
of the crass.

A minute-long saunter
In the eyes.

In the language
you dream in, it lives-

as well as the shores
where it breaks too.

You pick the shells,
is what you do.

On a nice day, shards
are shiny and pretty,

On a just day,
it cuts you.

05/26/2021

Posted on 05/26/2021
Copyright © 2025 Johanna May