I live and work in vacation land.
It’s always vacation to me.
Seagulls cry overhead
and I always smell the sea.
It’s like I’m in a movie
which is always just beginning.
There’s love, but it’s pretend love,
though it looks and sounds like sinning.
Cars wait for their drivers to return.
The drivers always do.
You see them moving through the night
on the well-lit avenue.
In the middle of August the crickets begin.
It sounds terribly sad.
Oh, sad when the season ends!
As if nothing else were bad.