The
moonlit
midnight summer sky’s immensely light-blue-sandy-
(sandy less than powdery) no-wind-will-
cover hush is to the distant-
even-smally-slushing
surf like a hugely
still wide-
open pasture sniffed at by a pent-up sheep herd straining
frantic for a way to enter it who
dimly bleat in feeble puzzle-
ment — crushed because they
simply aren’t
able
to.
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