Fog
smudges
the horizon line.
The darkness
of night
erases it.

today's frustrations
settled to the bottom
of my wine glass
with the dregs

our old stone

birdbath

is hosting

the ablutions of the

local sparrows

splotched

oilcloth

protects

the studio

table from

paint

spills

twelve years
of tangerine seeds
created
an orchard

My large
armchair
has a hidden
lever to
launch
the unsuspecting
visitor

ship
at anchor
rides
the rising
and falling
tides