Salt air and morning fog,

that rolls out to sea in fugue,

Bougainvillea

in a hue my mind can’t fathom,

against a cloudless sky of such blue,

that the interruption of a single contrail

could slice it,

coating the vista in a sanguine rain,

that transmutes the landscape

into a split pomegranate,

giving glorious new understanding

to the turn of phrase,

Hell on Earth

E. A. O'Connell. July 19, 2021