I dream in West coast light,
bathe in Pacific breezes
with sea foam pouring from my mouth.
Tiny white clouds, pieces of me
easily dissolved into tears
when the rains come to pull
down the canyon walls;
When they come too late
to put out the flames
of my summer fueled desires.
I awake to the sound of hard
northern winds, spiked with sharp
needles of icy rain, and there is no
sun for my head until I dream again.
Aleathia Drehmer 2007
Published by Hobo Camp Review Issue 1
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