A Peninsula Facing the East
When rocks expand like vegetation,
tourists get less crowded here.
You draw in the wind an outline of a peninsula,
fold it—an increasing clear rim
You walk into the center of the twilight. It
moves with you eastward, in a shimmering,
dimming gleam like a candlelight.
I open and spread you, the in-the-wind entity,
a faint blue thing,
and extend it to a dark green bay.
From four to seven pm, I repeatedly fold, open,
shaped and unshaped.