Wet and Dry

Sharply cries the sea-salt bird,
Feinting over the frothy waves
Exploring, sharing, just a little
As it will through ever-sparkling days

She rests a toe into the water,
Not overreaching, not brave, and well-behaved
While within her, forlorn, and sappy sighing –
Superficial sentiment must do for worldliness

The sea breeze fluctuates,
Brings dissonance (and danger),
Tickles spiders’ silk heartstrings,
And the toe goes away

Sand becomes her solid ground
Serenely fuming, caving in
She finds comfort in insecurity,
Security in comfort

Yet, ocean trickles
Rivulets of opportunity remain
Toes burrow in sand and mud
Trapped she remains. In a mime’s box.

Every power lies in her,
A vast potential for triviality
Cloaked in helplessness,
And passed off as sage

A master of facades,
Born of stoicism, eagerly pensive,
As she lets opportunity wash away
Leaving only dried-up sentiment

Flowing sands burn harder
Not-wet ground turns barren
Burning footholds from without
Honesty lost within

Harshly snarls the shoulder-angel,
Pulling hair and breaking skin,
Demons oddly sympathetic
And alas! no wet relief to give