The Salt

The salt-sea

Breeze and the

Sea-salt spice

Make up most of the summer.

I watched a little red buoy hoist himself up up and up

Into the waves.

Tumble, tumble, head over toes,

Only to start the climb again.

His little journey

Is never-ever-ending.

I think I hear him calling

Over the rumble of the ride.

Nothing smells quite like

The sea-salted breeze

Or the faint, far off

Linger of a

Long-dead crab.

And how can I do anything

But lay like a stone,

While my skin starts to

Darken and my lips

Start to sting,

Until I can feel them crackling under my tongue.

Until I dissolve into the sea-salt waves.

Until I am the sea salt too.