BETWEEN WIND AND WATER
Don't tell me you don't hear it too. Rising out of sight, it sweeps around blind corners like a noisy broom. Tugs at tangled strings, threatens our torpid silence.
I know how hard it is to draw breath nowadays. Like a beak-held branch, my pencil stalls in the turbulence. Hovers, veers. Looks for a place in some woven nest.
A helm bar forms along the ridge. Rain is coming. Its track is fixed; we can only trim the sails before it is an overhowl. No shelter found in the ribs of a broken umbrella.
You keep saying it may not be so bad; yet spring tides are also lapping at our heels. Get in the swim. Take a life jacket from under the seat. And don’t forget to remove your shoes.
iv. 2024
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