eating salad with my fingers on an island. wrapping squares of feta in spinach and shoveling it in my hungover-dry mouth sans dressing. pack in pack out, so when i’m done the little plastic container with all its residual little nuts goes into the bottom of my bag. i saw a fox drift past this morning going slow through the waving grass on a seaside cliff. i saw a thousand dolphins on the way here and i’ll see a thousand more on the way home. i stretched out on a sun-warmed pebble beach bone-tired. i called down to you from the top of a golden hill covered in fog, “i’m going to sleep like a rock tonight!”