“Among the golden seethe of leaves/hunting for perfect stones/rolled out of glacial time…”

Summer’s pink kiss on the skin

White paint-chipped deck creaking under

sandals, clinking glasses, umbrellas.

We look down to the street;

watch the cars rush by, the city clock tick.

So far away.

(title, Stanley Kunitz. Picture source: http://www.brooklynyid.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/garden.jpg

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