June Adrift on the Porch of the World

Night gathers from the corners,
draws tighter,
subsumes.

You are latitudinous
beneath my Magellanic
hands.

They approach
Tierra del Fuego,
are rebuffed.

So I turn for
Cape of Good Hope
and you call me

Henry the Navigator.
We laugh about
the two Fannies.

Mosquitos
buzz middle F,
pitch perfect.

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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