Photo by Jason Strull on Unsplash

 Blue-valley whisper,
 thoughts rarely derive,
 blue-valley mutations,
 evolved and alive.

 The music is frugal,
 and spreads like a stain,
 left-behinds remain.

 Heredity heralds
 our sun-blasted days,
 immune to the shadows
 of our wavering gaze.

 Such sun-blind imaginings
 can ping off your eyes,
 breath-in then breath-out
 for a shambling disguise.

 The tall ships keep running
 this side of the moon,
 it’s His way or no way
 OK or too soon?