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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