Clear Day

by Renwick Berchild

Blankets are leaving, we are all naked
as newborns, with sunglasses on our eyes.
The bluegreen day with yellow tint
is disguised as grey,
and we can’t blink
until the park is met, until our feet get wet;
it’s a savanna, and the rhododendrons
flare, and my compass knows
the way, the tide will take me out
come noon.

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