
I had saved these last pages for the sea. I thought I would fill them when I stared out to Lake Pontchartrain. Instead I’m writing on my green desk; outside night is claiming day, and the sun has let the gray concrete cool off.
I had saved these last pages for the sea. I thought I would fill them when I stared out to Lake Pontchartrain. Instead I’m writing on my green desk; outside night is claiming day, and the sun has let the gray concrete cool off.