Images

Sky sings and dives into ocean, landing ashore and washing us in wisdom.

We–supine and unified, chests rising and falling to the score of sandpipers trilling toward and away from exactly what they need. Until they still, ancient eighth notes dotting the sand curve of a wave’s last, languid sigh.

Sea foam and tidal lines and nautili–we–spirals of abandoned armor. Clavicles, holy water. Faces, shells creased as secrets with nothing to hide.

Revelations in a girl’s hand–we–burnished by the deep and etched by gull cries.