parched wind, salt‑tongued
from the far edge of the bay,
licks the last drift of
mauve jacarandas.
in the tin‑roof blush,
heat simmers like held breath,
I hear the slow heartbeat of soil—
patient, cracked, still keeping
the memory of rain..
......
parched wind, salt‑tongued
from the far edge of the bay,
licks the last drift of
mauve jacarandas.
in the tin‑roof blush,
heat simmers like held breath,
I hear the slow heartbeat of soil—
patient, cracked, still keeping
the memory of rain..
......