so close to your waters 

yet too far to ever taste your wetness

fated to only sense your moist mist

knowing that

your salt permeates the air

that i breathe

it sifts through the soil 

that roots me  

crystals of your salt are all over my body 

snowflakes of your salt cover my limbs

always,

i am never alone.

the mud of the sea

wet earth we call sand

material for glass

& so,

there are shreds of glass

sitting silkenly

on my fertile feet,

slicing away

at my tender toes,

releasing what needs to leave.

butter fingers 

these fingers turn this page 

sliced trees in the tips of spidery hands

these slices have been marked 

with lucid dreams

that can be shared 

what else are stories but vivid imagination 

vivid creations 

vivid living, lived loving 

roving minds that search 

elsewhere 

for they do not know 

how to simply be.