I bathe my dog in language. I lift his legs under
spigots of nouns and rinse his
paws in the flow of verbs. Adjectives
mix with the soap on his skin and
run down the drain. I speak to the
cats in full sentences. I envelop them
in the clouds of my dialogue. Run…

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Photo by @thiszun (follow me on IG, FB) from Pexels

The sea is coming for us all, we little
barnacles clutched to the coasts waiting
for the coming tide when
the caps melt, the Earth heats, and the oceans rise.
And on these foggy mornings the sea sentinels
rise from the dark green of the gulf to survey
the land that will soon be theirs.
Water snaking through cracks that
will become streams, pooling in puddles that will become
lakes. And the fog soldiers stand watch, laying flags
of conquest in every depression, vapor clouds hang
in valleys as they lay out the new maps.
Estuaries without names, reaches not crossed,
rivers that have yet to fall.
Where water redraws the lines,
and the sea comes for us all.

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