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.
Summer moves in, bawdy, hot and mean. Encapsulated in memory, mist comes into dreams. Waves fling wild those precious drops of foam. The desert cooks but sends lies, undulating waves rise from baking, melting asphalt. Memory survives, sustains.