Red and cream rock crumbles in my hand. It asks me: stone or sand? but it doesn't demand.
where the road runs out the depth of choosing begins
This year, "sparkling?" Yes, and.
What have you done with our kin that you swallowed, all dusted and silvered with raindrops?
On birds and beaches and shifting baselines, navy bases, and the tangled wrackline of that feeling: home.