Water knows something about surviving great leaps. We love even the small ones so much we name them so that any person standing on
lumbers out of the unwavering surf; claws, flipper by flipper, through wavesmack and tidepack; drags her girth up the struggle of shore; that vast
My grandmothers returned from the village: some spilled sugar over tea bags; sunshine… magnolias painted with citrus grocery lists—always stained and lullabies on guitared
I remember this place. I open where the spine surrenders and find the bookmark of peeled nails as though it has been minutes instead