Midway up
the sandy hill
a whale lies grounded
green in the haze of hot
It wants to swim
to the peak
but can’t
The houses tilt
with the tawny terrain
A pink stream
flows past
They start to quake
Then each flies off
The whale stays solid on the hill
The blue road reaching its tail
hold no ox or wagon
The pale sky receives it all

Published in Waymark, 2019