58: Deserting the beach — god forbid

— dazzling lethargy undoing our cuffs, waiting as the wagon sways
with fellowship. Love in the future, at your beck and call, a handshake spreads the rain,

flowers, rain,
flowers.
(That’s it! Do what you want.

The moat-house for the wagon then some new wagon shirts we
can walk on with. Hell. A mighty wine origami and the wagon yard for our widows.

This is spring history.)