an overripe peach
and a true view
of the inside passage.
The seldom seen
scene of blue skies,
a jet-cloud stream tails
a plane of passerbys.
Feeling rooted
youthly suited
and quite mile-high myself
for a monday afternoon. Besides
Who'd dare dispair?
If they too had seaweed
for hair, sand for hands
and a peach to spare.
Bids my mind run free -
like a child ankle-deep
in waves, piles shells
for mom to see.
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