washing shirts
in a small sink
waves crashing
upon a shore.
this morning
still wet.
a hot iron failed.
now a date with
a laundromat.
crisp and fresh,
sweat water,
long gone,
a quiet
breakfast
and coffee
crashed too
upon the shore.
hello sun!
how you burn
off sentimentality
of the ocean lingering
between our view.
good gracious,
the incense stick
still burns — like
smoke, on the breeze.1
1 “let your troubles float away like smoke on the breeze”; takamatsu chosei