s/cents

the lake smelled of home today,

wild air and hints of salt-licked wonder.

the wet rocks smiled at our sounds,

aliveness well with my soul.

can You hear prayers shouted

at           the loudest whisper?

silence is the quickest answer,

the pillar of salt between

chaos and stardust,

flesh burned red

by the water frozen in shards,

knives of homebound pictures,

postcards are sixty cents

to preserve this memory

of getting older, of smiling smaller.