Days that outgrow

Broad sun-stoned beaches.
White heat.
A green river.
A bridge,
scorched yellow palms
from the summer-sleeping house
drowsing through August.
Days I have held,
days I have lost,
days that outgrow, like daughters,
my harbouring arms.

Letters from the Pink City

Subscribe to get special offers, free giveaways, and once-in-a-lifetime deals.