may day

i counted grains of sand on the beach today. it’s been too long, and for quite some time tonight i stayed. barefoot, a flannel shirt tied around my waist. i sat. alone, scribbling nonsensical poetry with my favourite inky pen on blank pages dedicated to life to you, and i counted grains of sand without my hands. knees to my chest, i pushed my toes in to the silkiness a little more. they cooled in the shadowy damp.

the first day of may, it was warm, and i need.

tonight the moon rose, behind a haze of cloud, almost full, it hovered. and i couldn’t quite grasp how my moon is your moon…
[one moon one world, we’re not so far apart.]

as the moon rose, the sun set, but i’d never have known to where. the sky was all sea and the sea was all sky and it was all horizon all unending all eeriness and beauty, the world in unique glory. and i’d never known the difference but for a glowing yellow sun reflected on water too still, as it made its way to make the night and cool my flushed and swelling heart.

you’re on my mind.

i wrote and i counted and i watched the sun set to nowhere as light faded slow.
i heard the unfurling of waves on the shore. left to right, white noise.
a seagull.
or two.
nothing else.
i heard my heartbeat, unsteady. i heard the gliding of my pen, the ticking of my thoughts, the humming of the air that brushed against my cheek.
i heard my ears ring in the silence of the settling wind.
i heard my past in flecks of saltiness, and saw it falling there. toward the shore, to the whitewash of all it was before the counting and the writing and the falling falling falling.

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