No one lays a flat bead of flux over a metal seam or lowers the steel forks from a tailgate.
No one lays a flat bead of flux over a metal seam or lowers the steel forks from a tailgate.
Shadows gather inside the sleeve of the empty thermos beside the sink, the bells go still by the channel buoy, the wind lies down in the west, the tuna boats rest on their tie-up lines turning a little, this way and that.
—Joseph Millar, “Labor Day”