laying back
rustle of white sheets
a black crease
in the dirty white ceiling
running past the fan
4 green blades
circle in the warm air
outside
perched at the sill
the soft drum of ocean
the stiff white cotton burns
feverish eyes
of the bathroom mirror
so long ago
yet among the garbage
sitting in the muddy street
the smell of soap
blue-green bar
tapered into translucent
at the ends
slight twinge of saline
and cedar
on the bed
facing the stretch of white
wall
running down to where the water
met
blackness
of an old tire
like an innertube of summer boyhood
cast aside
in the gravel sand.

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