This building with the tin roof gravel yard , hard unyielding earth in back, necessitates spending summer in a different space, but in limbo. It's ok, the understanding is there. I know and understand, but my feet are so hot you see. They sizzle on the hot rocks, sting on goatheads rising from barren sand. My feet yearn for remembered sand damp, cool, caressing, the feeling a rejuvenation of sole and soul.
Boundaries mean nothing as the pulse aligns with waves beating onto shore.
Tide Pulls Wind has howled for weeks, sucking scant moisture from all living things, bending them to its will. Grass hangs on, but the grip grows weak Birds rejoice as fountains are filled from a long green, spouting snake. Even skin feels brittle, scale-like. No supple, moist texture can be found here. Heat heats up.