I watch while the mountains crumble

a piece of flotsam in the passing
why am I seeing it from afar
my hair plastered to my skull
salt sticks into me
that abrasive feeling does not leave
when did my feet get webbed
when did I sprout wings
the ocean sleeps in front of me
sky is running away
that flotsam is a piece of a mountain
the world is unusually calm
while I accept the gift of peace


“I wanted to be the last redwood, now I pirouette with the jinx”


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