read me back and forth

sand dunes

sand dunes don’t make a good start to this poem. especially if i start
writing in prose. then it’s definitely not a good start to a poem. maybe i
can make writing prose about sand dunes poetic. i’d rather write you
verses of flowers, but sometimes all you have is a handful of sand
slipping through your fingers fast. sometimes all you have is a handful
of moments gone before you can write them down.
suddenly this make-belief poem about sand dunes turns into a tale of
how much time is missing, how much sand is choking me, how i am
melting for you, over and over again. falling in quicksand for a girl
who’s never seen the shore.

nymph

when she is around everything is salvation. her fingertips graze the
edges of the universe as if it were a quilt to wrap ourselves into; she
blinks and my tornado mind stops. she is softness and calm and the
deep red of a slow fire. she is mesmerizing in the same way a
waterfall is, gentle as a heartbeat is. perfect as only something vowed
to disappear can be. she is in every movement of the waves, every murmur
of every crater. she is the rhythmic pounding of a lioness’ paw
as she speeds away. she is speeding away. she is fleeting and leaving
beauty in her trail. she is the ghost of something new.