Under the Seaport Boulevard Bridge
the wind’s tease — smell it? like a ghost gripping an oar, sun on its red brow
sylvan shadows
new fears wet, exposed don’t be afraid of the dark demons in daydreams (studios without walls)
On the Northern Avenue Bridge
darkly haunted, hoarse, thousands of redcoats incensed — lobsters, tea, sink, sunk
cmliu 