I've turned to page 4 and the wind has already picked
Ahead an overhang, sculpted oaks. Their crooked limbs
decorate the sound around the bay where we're to embark.
Then, past the ess-curve, surprise!
A cluster of cypress. Dark, moody, they hinge on seas cliff,
linger above the isthmus, shout out wait for me my darling
and the lone dwarf-pine looks up from time to time,
gestures (in earnest?), clutches a rocky shore shimmering,
or shivering? Lusty emerald needles.
You held your surprise for too long after I
turned the page.