Peach Pale

The small places they went

The smell of fried fish hung in your nose where people were

The smell of the sea where they weren’t

The sea peppered in her sins

Peach pale rock

fog which attached itself to the horizon

As the world tilted to the left the water rippled rhythm

The birds moving the fog with their feathered hands

A median of land between a sunrise and a sunset

Left a small reflection of morning as the days end

Naturally scattered stones lined the sea creating a place of rest

Uncomfortable to the mass of man with their crooked spine and boney bum

Neck crooked and back cramped however, the mind paused and content disconnected from their vessel of life