White Sails

 

We parked our car on a small street
next to a pair of door frames made of
stressed elmwood.
There came the hush of
the wind, the shine of the
sailboats reflecting from
the rear windows.

It was the sailing season,
a pelican swooshed over us,
bringing the waves
as if it were
the spring ground for carnations,
young strollers and blue
dwellers,

luring us to the scent of the bay,
ushering us to the surf-loving
spirits, the white sails,
which made us forget this
life will have an end,
we don’t know when, and an eerie disease
that we carry with us
to amend.

 

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