Unlimited
Paddling swan in feathers.
The dog’s bark ricochets in waves that break ‘gainst seagull’s calling.
With pub fire calling, its warmth tempting all in, Molly, through the rain she yet led.
In screeching seagull song sounds out senescent afternoon.
The road runs riv’ring currents, coursing crashless swirls of traffic.
A finely crafted lot of letters nailed into its door, the room, so full in retrospect, slept – spacious; silent.
The walls of mud-made brick that bind and shape the space they share start to compress – contracting in upon themselves; sharp shuddering.
Is masked th’moon’s cratered plight beyond the wisp-white atmosphere.