Atlantic Wind - A bite out of the beach
was taken by the last high tide
and on the ledge
of sand I stand leaning
toward the surf into the brisk east wind
thick with salt a briny mist
whipped from tops of whitecapped swells
that roll in to their secret cadence
from far out in the night-enshrouded sea
My shirt against my chest
my pants tight to my thighs
Fabric billows out behind me
like sails of ships unsheeted
The Atlantic wind, not cold but cleansing
blows through me unhindered
gLike
Elemental spirits
