Dry Lagoon

White and black
Looking closer
finely grained stones
stick to my palms
a point accented by the waves
mist is approaching over the mountains
feel the texture change under my boots
yellow stains the sand
Victorian gem spies on us
from between the branches
dying in masses
blue and clear ameobas
following the shape of the tide
and dead
do you want to go the the top?
if its possible, I’m down
swirls of orange cut by the rigid texture of wood
but my fingertips see the cool touch of stone
Independently entertained
Hunting for treasure
stones engulphed in the white foam
My favorite people are those I can be silent with
Funny thing to be able to choose
I haven’t replied yet.
A reminder of the world
soft breeze through my sweater
the tide plays on the shore
a little different each time

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