Without memory
the sun rises normally
the sea still surges.
Day: June 8, 2018
Caveat: Poem #678 “An end so slow it’s just like a story”
ㅁ So we took a walk up the sloping road, Arthur and I, but we didn't talk much. The road was scattered with brown husks of spring. The sky was painted with curved, cobalt clouds. The air smelled of childhood and vague regrets.
– a pentastich of indeterminate pentameter (if it’s iambic, it’s not very good).
