I would like to returnthe candy that I stole.
The camp shop stares out into the wheat and changes mellow hands.
Runes salt the night.
Crabs rot in the harbor where their eggs hatch.
The white church sows gravel through the corn.
Mounds poke like nipples beside claimless bikes.
Tucked inside the cliff is a bunker full of art which only weevils see.
One day soon we are going out to sea but the walk to water will take time and many feet.
—Jack Delaney is a sophomore in Pierson College.