Shantih Journal Issue 2.2 | Page 106

Summer Will Come beth Mcdonough

In this day ’ s grim glottal stop while no patterns remember rainbows , here ’ s
106 a wave crimping wind on the Tay . Conspiring with this firth ’ s ebb , I ’ m washing downstream , swimming through clear with that blind sun ’ s surprise warm on my back . After
turns playtimes of dolphins acrobat past a red mizzen . Hands mumble shared mugs , then a warmed drive on . Let ’ s pass by the fiddling optician ’ s house , laugh where a myopic mouse once ceilidhed right up his trouser leg .
Summer will come .