There is more in the air than possibilities.
Smoke, fine gnats and wheat chaff.
Here then over here.
Some things get the mind off.
Others snap it back.
White side-winding middles of the smoke.
Letting the cigarettes smoke themselves.
Moons of my fingernails
pull the sea,
But for now, I don’t go near.
Wheat fields and sagebrush
or twisted dreams of seaweed?
Ocean salt. My bread.
Hussy. Hush her. Do not let the worlds touch.
Whip the tide but don’t go near the abalone.
Keep a border.
Every Sunday, sweep the sand back to the sea.
The Word of the Day Challenge is possibility.