I forgot my shirt at the water's edge

The first night swim of the summer.

The moon a perfect lonely arc, a bracing shot of bourbon against the midnight air,
and everyone asleep apart from me and the guy playing old Springsteen down at the fish camp,
far beyond the dark edge of the deep end.

June

It rains and rains and rains.  

The wrong things grow. The wrong things die. 

I still need to lean to/somebody I can sing to

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