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Collected Poetry

    (rd king dot net)
poetry and digital art

In California

  On the Plain of Smokes 


The sky was neither blue nor white.
It was yellow, and the small
scattered clouds had appeared
quite suddenly like explosions.
Beside the diaphanous pool she lay
on a vinyl-colored chaise lounge.
It was morning.  It was already
warm when she broke
into a sweat and then wanted
not to be a part of it
anymore, so she moved
beneath the white-fringed umbrella
where she told her desperate tale—
to the boy, and the white hibiscus.




 
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