Her first summer at the beach.
After years of living land locked,
behind walls and windows. Those
barriers that kept the world’s
sharpest edges from cutting her.
Until the rain beaded on the azaleas
blooming outside her door,
she didn’t know she would follow
the path over the velveteen slopes
of dune grass to the ocean.
Her feet fumbling for footholds
as she studied the traceries
in the sand, reading the utterances
of ribbed patterns that were left
behind by the retiring tides.
Wherever that wordless writing
might go, before being swept away,
she followed, never looking back.
Tidal cuneiforms
