A good chair a firm bed and you
Who said men aren’t domestic lied
My blues won’t make you blue
Never regret the world left outside

Let the juices of watermelons sparkle, be candles
Near the shore. Yesterday’s rind is today’s
Twenty-four year old nostalgia. Listen–
Save the black seeds, and please laugh at your face.
The sea comes into my left ear on a visit, turns pink
Then goes away. I drop the seashell, return gingerly