Let’s say the sad things out loud. Softly, constantly, so they fall upon themselves like breakers on the rocks, sliding their wet fingers over and over and over the same rough places, the same sharp edges.
Salt purifies. Water makes all bodies smooth. The run-off churns brown with silt and tannins, but water is water: one, instantly and always. And the sky is vast with a blue that can’t be used up.
I’ll tell you my truth and you tell it back. We’ll take turns being wave and shore, inlet and sea, evaporating cloud and soaking rain. These words are one, the same, all rising and falling, vapor to liquid in an unending cycle, telling the same secret that everyone knows (whether they know it or not) for the rest of this life, until the day the tide stops.
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