Precious.
along
the beaches of your mind
are
loose bolts and
screws,
rusted only
from the wetness in the air
A voice crawls over the azure horizon
A voice, dissipating
into the sea
finer than its salt unseen
in the chariot of apparent water
Helios, and storm,
and rush of the clouds,
the shot,
of the rain drop
that sang itself into existence
over the ocean
and situated at the midpoint
between each and every shore
those ahead and afore
the one drop
ravager of cities
caresser of children and
the desiccated sacs of the elders
inside of me
is the wet scream
and i am made of fire
inside of me
is the smoke scream
born of abayed ire