ii. restore

I sit alone on a shore amongst the
solitude of jagged stones, they
rise like a crown to the earth,
superb in the sunset.

The sun is a fury, shakes its
face at a worn, worried world. And
maybe the light is a kind of bleeding
that stains every place it flows.

Sunlight traces its thumb on the
faces of the willing, marking them
awake and unbroken, tinting the
cheeks with an untold brightness.

And here I feel alive, like an
open vein to the sea, lungs
awash with the scent of brine, skin
shivering with a salted zeal.

And here I am painted, thick and
colored in a setting fire.
Maybe all there is, is mercy in
the midst of this.