I saw this girl the other day, and
her fingers were as slender as the
stem of a very serious flower and
the hours passed like centimeters.
"Wish me no luck." I said. Before I
sat like a pausing pelican upon a
ridge roll made from rust overlooking
her pools of soft blue salt Oceans.
But the salt had eaten my stomach
and when she swam to another dam I
could not pace to keep the distance
pushed away by both waves of salt.
But the fault line has no lines to print.
Only single unspoken words which
ran from my eyes and stunned my
mouth with the acrid taste of