Drones - the snoring in the other rooms. Forsaken by its twin, the tenor melody, an old bass wind fondles its tuneless song. It plays upon a picture of evergreens in summer and the back of a pinafored girl . . . Moments, etched in sepia, by champagne and tune fleshed out. Dogs wilt in the sun Asleep, on the back verandah.
High tide rolls slowly to low.
Mangoes expose themselves on a sill.