Pysht River

Banana slugs shine black In the half dead sun A day off from fishing Time spins on its perpetual right turn To gaze at the milky horizon with its moutainous **** I drink it in like a hungry cub A flight of seagulls to the right Form an interesting signature A sudden light sprinkle from the dim heavens Cause a downward glance back to the ponderous slugs Lazing on green carpet fuzz I walk for half a league along a blackish band of road Then enter a berried thicket I empty my full bladder dousing the dirt with lemonade