Anxiety settles, like silt, back underneath my skeleton retreating from the sphinx on my sternum. Where in the forests and farms did you learn that, predator?
Seaweed and salt, rotting skin, stone petrichor — all is open, worn sand on the wind met with fire, sharp magic missing muscle. Coastal bones fly wildflower low, feathers are lost but the sea keeps teal and lightening for whoever roams red among the coves.
It was like finding a ladybird in a cave; red dome waterfall, black gothic lace, we traced flashlight shadows fashioned into stone, spread ruby beetle tulle around our legs.
The wagtail ascends invisible stairs trees knuckle into airy sea foam the moon-ghost has come to collect the sweat-tear frustrations grown by the Sun — we are running into the streets.