Omer 23 - The Morning’s Golden Hour

The ocean breathes salty and so do I.

I have slept through so many of these morning

and will sleep through many more.

The sun is too fierce on the water,

shimmering waves shards of glass,

grass sylph blades as I brush against them.

The first golden hour of the day sweeps

the sands and trees — trees corkscrewing

from Atlantic’s blunt winds —

casting long shadows, casting warmth

on all it touches.

A summer’s day, the terns already bicker,

piping plovers with chicks scuttling and peeping softly,

gulls bobbing on water or lounging on sand bar.

The seals are awake already, signaling sharks’ presence,

signaling waters’ slow revival.

The ocean breathes salty and so do I.

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Omer 22 — 22 piercings < previous || next > Omer 24 — Chrome

the start: Omer 1 — Pomegranate