by Helena Minton

On a scorched evening
under a full moon
one lone swimmer in the bay.

It could be you
shoulders relaxed,
buoyed on the waves.

When you visit the sea
you turn into the person
you thought you were.

First dreams don’t always come true
and second, subsequent dreams,
what becomes of them?

When you visit the sea
you remember you want to live there,
as though you’d misplaced a longing

and now you want it written down,
to set in motion a reversal,
to quell your disposition.

Sand, swells, horizon,
evening’s salt air in your lungs.
Longing may be key.

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