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