The next wave will take me for sure, with balloons in my pockets instead of rocks. It’s dusk going on dawn, the moon winking knowingly in the sky for a second only before flip-flopping off the beach to a cheap motel. Over to the rocks, a child in a bathing suit kicks today’s sand castles, out to beat the sun. He cowardly drags his feet to my body, which is stretched out like a sand angel, to kick at the angels face.
With this wave I’m gone, floating on the tide, out to the islands where the Black Annis preys on Indonesian pirates. A seagull dives into the salty water, kissing a dolphin’s fin. A more unlikely couple there never was, perhaps for a tortoise and hare or a man and woman. Deep into the sky, the stars pack their bags with whatever belongings are most important. Pictures of children turning into old people. Pictures of you and I.
The view from the top is refreshing, compared to that of the bottom. Water licks the toes nestled in my boots and my baldness is soothed, the lack of hair for once a blessing. There for helium go I singing Halleluiah, flicking fingers and swishing feet. A new life formed as a white dot in blue, waving at spacemen and lost satellites. I say hello to the Lord and he clears the sky for me, ridding it of black clouds and Hurricanes.
This truth is for the person who doesn’t read but for hotels in Mediterranean climes, beside pools and beneath umbrellas. It is for the fish that nibble my fingertips and the palm leaves that guide me safely onto the island beach. It is for the singer who soundtracks my journey and the comforting priest who holds my mothers hand. This is for the weak and afraid who find life too heavy and decisions too difficult. This is for the grains of sand that crawl into my mouth and the crabs that inspire movement. This is for the peace and solitude, there for the first time to hold my hand.