In August, a poem can be a predawn swim, the sun rising…

Summer wanes, but there’s time for a few more games of Marco Polo. Your brown shoulders, slick with coconut lotion, meet the bright smell of chlorine as you move about the pool.

If you missed August Postcard Poetry Festival  and would like a postcard poem, let me know and I’ll send one your way…

IMG_0839 IMG_0840

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s