The weather dreams on my swooning skin over salt breezes and solar lights, the night holding my mind close like the
candle-lit bridge holds ink water.
Nothing is still.
Frantic ripples follow an orbital shadow or a
night heron startling to flight. Every matchbox car races to eventuality,
each a sparking vessel for ripe destiny.
A flicker of my mind raises a soul of wintering sighs, which turn to spring and summer.
Farther from Orion’s reaching bow, along a sliver of moon,
I slip into a season of shores. Time and again I am a dawn of hearts, a
queen of lifetimes, an illusion cutting through water with paper sails of hope.
