Slough of stone slows
them down, sideways
descent working well.
Then hammered sand
set by tidal whim
emancipates the body and
they are warriors, shields
darned to the right. The
rhythm sets in and I hear
their steady battle prayer,
feel it in the blood, rising.
I see it in their innate
balletic run, onward toward the
wave, the cradle of the new
tribe, and what remains is the
primeval thrum.

Read this story on Apple News.

Cover photo courtesy of John O'Nolan.