Greyhounds at Scotts Ferry
Greyhounds at Scotts Ferry
tide out, the beach empty. Unleashed
you nose into the pack
a sand track edged
by dunes and teal sea.
A silent start gun
Cracks. The phalanx
collectively surges
muscles synchronize
sing, stretch
thighs and shoulders, muzzles,
airborne. Toes lob
cold sand clumps.
I stand in the hot wake
of departure
watching bodies recede
appear to tear the horizon
to ashy dots.
The sun peaks
land swallows shadow.
You turn
reach me in seconds
eyes kernels
bones and skin
lift-fall-lift
life raw cinnabar.
A hymn in your chest thrums
under my palms.
Prayer Musk
She hides
from hot streets
in a temple
and sips
sweet
bubble tea
Tapioca pearls
fill her mouth.
She watches
hunched backs
and bare
softly wrinkled
soles
incense
smoke constantly
spreads
and falls
soaking
her hem.
She smells
musky with
prayer as
she leaves
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