Seashells by Jota Boombaba

                 —for Mary

Open like a seaside cave
the waves roll in, roll out
the bats fly in, fly out

And then you come, brief tourist
flashlight in hand, your oohs and aahs
    only your absence left behind

Jota Boombaba, when not on the road, writes in and around San Francisco, where he lives and kicks back with his son.  Visit him most days at



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