the salt of the ocean// the sand of the shore

I’ve stood at the cusp of the earth where nothing but scuttling crabs and drifting gulls ever dare to wander there are no footprints at least, none that remain untouched by the passing waves the melting, running foam that leave everything and nothing in your hands the warmest grasp that tracks lines of salt on dried skin whispers and promises to never let go after the longest day with the most turbulent waters when words and smiles and sun have come and gone traces of salt linger on my fingers like unexpected friends dropping by one afternoon for a few words exchanged turned into your heart spilled out and the longest goodbyes written across salt dusted palms bits and pieces of every hand that’s breached the surface of the water I stand ankle deep in shifting sands a boiling mud, simmering and settling over and over again the floor beneath me resets backwards and forwards, the shore is drawn deeper into the belly, the mother, the void I could be sinking or floating or maybe just beckoned there’s always a point when you stand too long and you’ve forgotten exactly where your skin begins and the earth ends

I’ve been rubbed raw by the smallest of granules scraped to the bone by the piles of dust

I’ve walked the roads of millions across the globe sands carried over by the rolling sea traces of stories stuck in between my toes under my feet and up to my knees

I could close my eyes and listen to cymbals the rhythm of twirling ocean against tumbling shore, and let my ear reach for the other edge connected by water and salt and sand to touch those who stand where everyone and no one has stood before the land of the sea and the depths of the earth