driving past wheatfields
snippets of meadowlark song
from the fence posts

narrow bridge
our shadows fall
onto the rocks

hazy sky
the sound of the anchor
lowering

dusk
pelicans and cormorants
share the rocks

searing heat–
a passing bus stirs
the first row of cotton

crossing the bridge–
the shadow of a gull
I never see

right now
while we chat
fish in the deep ocean

empty deck
the seagull adjusts
its glide

tiny seashells
under the magnifying glass
a cut finger

summer twilight
the flap of pigeons
in a dry fountain