Blue notes cry
From inside the bar
Out across the bay.
The summer heat
About to break,
As thunder calls
On the rain
To wash the streets.
To sweep away
The worries of the everyday,
That never touch
This foreign shore
This island floating
In impossibility.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 26 July 2016
Made of sticks and stones 
Reblogged this on Made of sticks and stones and commented:
Day 23 of my review of the last twelve months, and a reminder for those in the northern hemisphere that it isn’t always this cold…
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