morning sun
like a mangrove mannequin
set in motion, the golden
whistler
is what might be found
on small islands of the
open ocean
her black eyes blind to
the pale & crisp
sun creeping up her
legs/crawling
she be empty vessel in
salmon bikini
it’s summer
and her mind is wrapped
in cotton sheath
in itchy linen &
dusted grey
the bird drops below
the buildings outside
blare
bright crimson bricks
and a moldy copper water
tower
