For the past several days, the valley we live in has been full of smoke from wildfires burning north, east, and south of us. For a short time yesterday, we escaped to the ocean to breathe.
About the ocean, I can’t quite decide. Is it relentless, or does it have something to hide? Is helplessness its plight? Is it mine? A man with a kite — in this light, gray is red, yellow white. Blue is sight. And shore birds at night, swallows and gulls. The caves and the roads. One small island where cliffs used to be — like one last surviving thought — ah! relentless, it must be. Relentless as reason, dreaming of wings. Relentless as meaning, that dies as it sings — and makes poetry of reason’s remains.
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