Its summer scene of hours passed.
I, in this inkyphem’ral
The wind-waves ferry only onward th’scents of wawtry wood and th’smells of rainswept stone.
? ( … )
‘Ray’byun camels c’lect their stores in sanded, varnished vista.
A gradual, rolling rumble from few spots on the horizon brings a chorus for the dawn to sail its orange sunlight o’er.
Beneath the raised voices sinks the sound of someone leaving…
As if a separate, other person
lived a separate life…