in this story
a summer wind 
blew our hair
across our faces
and fat seagulls
ate bread from
our lifted palms.
you tap danced
across the bridge
and sang songs
of the moon.
mother said all
poems become words 
and threads release 
seeds. let’s harvest 
another story, friend. 

*34/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.

**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.