It’s the way you sit,
palms out with fingers stretching towards the horizon
and the crashing waves
dancing to the beat of your heart.
Your skin is weathered, cracked,
but every wrinkle holds
a lifetime of memories.
Flower picking at midnight under
a bright moon.
Breaths held as tales of ghostly galleons approaching the shore
Diving from the waterfall
into the lake below, ignoring mother’s warnings.
The clouds part at your exhale,
and you fold into the sand
as the tide pulls out.