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.)