I escape as far as the river, but no further. I ‘m bleeding too much.
There’d be a boat soon. I just have to wait. I collapse under an overgrown fig tree and hope the trail left by my wounds vanishes along with the shadows of a slowly dying afternoon.
No exfil yet.
The river and the sands mix together in a seamless orange. There is only the waves and the wind through the leaves, and the two combine into a ballet of silhouettes at my feet.
Not much longer.
No stars and no Marines and Just crickets. No constellnations.
I never fixed the picnic table. The squeaky the hinge on the screen door.
She’d always remine me about that.
mabe this was waitink for me all alon
shes always sink ing those god awful oldies in the shower i wished they all could be calniforia
id cleanse her with ice cold water right over shed holler shed holler and cuss shed smile though too with her sparkly ing eyes
id never see mylilpenut take her firs steps
dimons and Good in the water
cleans my feet
clean me away