I remember the wild rushing
through my red-dyed strands,
my arms flying into the air,
my palms openly resisting the ocean wind
in a convertible full of smiles.

I sang out,
feeling known by every verse
down to my deepest core,
breathing the rhythm in like salty wind
and crying out syllables into the sunset.

We knew we were headed somewhere
to numb our tides of pain
before collapsing into its depths once again
as we hung onto youth like a death grip.

Now, sitting in a coffee shop
after a season stirring of the mighty tempest,
I hear a new version of the old song
that left me dying to live in its waves
if only for a moment.

I sink into revived memories,
but instead of reminiscent peace,
there is yearning.
Instead of growing pains,
there is inward groaning.
Instead of floating friendships,
there is drowning.
Instead of immortal snapshots,
there is vanishing vapor.

Within the winds of wisdom,
the worldly salt loses its flavor,
an old fragrance leaving the afterbite
of sorrow for what once was
as a coastline of everything
dissolves into nothing
but wasted noise
until all I hear
are breaths of mercy
beating to the cadence of souls
in a remix of dry people’s bones.