BPR 51 | 2024
Color by Kodachrome
Those streaks of sky
almost wiped clean
spread like pages of a history
book torn out one by one.
Revolution begins in a grain
of sand, Blake almost said.
Even politics lives in gardens
reeking of honeysuckle
and sewers, roses preening
in their death throes.
On the sea rocks, mussels boiled
in their shells. We never
thought hell would rise
so near, riding the high tide,
a monster of the deep.