The waves rush, curling this morning, their cusps golden in early light. Gilded edges spilling towards inevitable ends. They become gold flecked foam on dark sand, a part remaining, hidden between the grains, sinking below, half earth, half sea. Neither the one nor the other.
I’m rolling now, feeling the rise and fall of swells. My soul mixes with the waters as they curl. That weightless feeling of a drop, all rises as I fall, all tumbles as I turn, down is up, memories come unbidden, the past claims the present and the moment, is neither the one, nor the other.
It has come to this. Washed and spread on sand, my soul making its roughness smooth, giving what is left to lubricate this life. Golden flecks disappear as I sink, separated from the waters of mixed souls, filtered, I saturate the grains. I dwell in two worlds, not of the one, nor the other.
Sunlight warms the sand, abandoned by waves that seek deeper thoughts of the moon. I’m drawn upward by some warm pull, irresistible as breathing, transforming I rise from grit’s prison. I am distilled. Excited by such heat, I vibrate, I am air, I am water, Neither the one, nor the other.
Floating. I see others like me, ghosts of vapor stretching into the light. Souls old and young, we fly, we flit, we haut the woman running through us, leaving her tracks on our old penitentiary. She sees without understanding. We are alive, but dead. Neither the one, nor the other.
It has come to this. Pulled up and out by the day’s spin, I feel coolness creep into my being. Drawn to the other ghosts, we coalesce. Becoming one, we rise as something massive, but weightless as the air. It breaks. Falling, splashing into the gathered souls below. One again.