Dreaming in Brine


fell from an orange, littoral sky;

depleted hands, full of tangled questions

raced to collect them in hungry handfuls,

too quick to shove them in and swallow

down in these guarded catacombs

before reading what they were.

Now too full,

yet far from sated, coerced by

small feet tripping up sandy steps

running giggles chase lazy, salted zigzags,

palms open, grit slips through fingers,

too lovely to resist; growing smiles

watch as the ocean laps us up.


Elizabeth Helmich

Photo credit: courtesy of Pixabay