loops

Photo by Bernd 📷 Dittrich on Unsplash

figure eight
traced with
fingertip
deeper and deeper
to the cold
below the
gold
sand
surface,
all the shivering
beneath.
time on my eyelashes
just out of sight
blown away
on a wish,
the red core of me
scented wind salt
and downed peach
devoured by the sun.
there’s a whisper
on every waking
not right not right not right
empty hands
alive
summers away.
leaves beyond the window
starting to turn
the feeling in my fingertip
still there
always
again
always
again
the sound of waves
to the shore.