Walk across the tip-toe sand, grains of embers
Burning in the sun, hold your flyaway hat upon your head,
Skirts in hand, flying in the fleeting winds along with the clouds,
Down to the water’s edge, let your aching feet rest in the cooler waves,
Salt-licked wounds, and breathe.
The wind is lukewarm in your lungs, the sun
Is cascading warmth upon the back of your neck, let
Your skirts drop in the blue, rising wet,
Still you hold your hat upon your head, breathe.
The water is a gentle cooling shade, and your hat
Rests upon the waves.
A Teacup Full of Stories 