Paddling swan in feathers.
The dog’s bark ricochets in waves that break ‘gainst seagull’s calling.
Day-drinker ponders; rises; leaves the poem.
Do you hear?
People-watching; people, watching me.
Over the water, w’thin the waves of crashing flame, I sit ‘n write.
In screeching seagull song sounds out senescent afternoon.
The road runs riv’ring currents, coursing crashless swirls of traffic.
Bath-stone built up about the natchrul Avon’s course ‘n curves…
Now opens up to see far dist’ horizon helmed by fire.
Rush, ruffling wind.