I breathe my name into every word
I hold.
All that is mine is buried—
not dead beneath the soil,
but rather dormant,
ready.
Suffocated on the shore,
I strain my eyes to see
across the horizon,
hands reaching out and
combing through the thick seafoam.
The tide dances,
sweeping up shells and
coaxing the seagulls to fly out
into the salty air, to
feel wind whipping
against their feathers.
I stay,
sprawled out in the sand.
I watch dark clouds pour
across the sky, onward.
I let time pass.
I let it pass
time and again
and I watch the tide shrink back.
As I breathe into the damp air,
I speak to it:
Do I dig deep into the earth
in search of myself
or do I let everything underneath
take root and grow,
racing to join me?
It does not answer,
but I see the gulls above
savoring the joy of reaching upward
and I lift my head.