Turn

It sits in still, not quite waiting. More like something else than knotted nerves and verse’s twist. Far away a wave breaks in crest.  Seems like the tide has turned, over and out, rolled up to rest in puddles and pools.

d r i p p i n g

The want has become even odder, two halves split to be tied and bound…for distant courses. Mapped out on ripples spread from here to somewhere beyond the seen.

Sometimes a single grain is all it takes, when in fact and fiction it wants them all.