Her grit-slipped
roads there,
on a tyre-trolled
headland,
of wind-quick
wounded-dunes,
she briefly sat
on a surf-piled mound.
10,000 POEMS – Posted freshly most days
Her grit-slipped
roads there,
on a tyre-trolled
headland,
of wind-quick
wounded-dunes,
she briefly sat
on a surf-piled mound.