Evening pulls its’ drawstring around us
and the moon tugs on the sails of ships.
Can you smell salt on breezes twining around those slender twigs outside our window?
The arch grows plump with dusky biscuits next to the white picket fence
and small leaves clamber 
for stories from windy knapsacks
and the rest 
i suppose 
is better left unsaid…

Hush fills the hollows of the beach. In the morning we will look for sunlit honey on berry bushes..