Wind chimes outside sing over aspen leaves.
My lungs constricted by airless humidity and all the smoke and must.
I can never get enough 
The smell of cats.
The smell of sweat.
The steady clank of ropes against a sailboat mast on the Harbor

loneliness of hearing the wind on sails on an overcast day

An old couple held hands walking along the breakwater to the lighthouse at the end. In her other hand, the woman gripped the string of a blue balloon. As they approached the shore, the woman let go of the string and the balloon was sent floating over the Atlantic Ocean.

Spiral staircases in grass lawns lead to a silver sky. Metal stairs on breakwater granite strip let you walk into the ocean.

Wet black headed men pull out of the water and say, “You know you’ve gone sailing too early when you get out and put your wool socks on.”
The shining waves, thick blue in the Atlantic, told me that life is a dream, that I’ve walked through it all before and I’m right now choosing to see what I want to see. Choosing to see the ocean and be reunited with friends I’ve always had. This isn’t the first life in which I’ve been to the Atlantic Ocean, I’m only dreaming it is. This isn’t the first time that I’ve drank delicious spring water ale.


Leaves come from the trunks of city trees. Night comes out of the theater with voices of Chinese children. Stars come from the smell of summer night.  spirits talking from the river, I say to them go ahead and haunt me, I could use the company.