Reading the air , salt hanging on the lips of this breeze
current spray travels inland          far beyond beach dunes
rolling in
with the edge of a storm breeze and the unmistakable smell of
almost-ready-to-fall rain.

sweeping stories of deserts once visited, textured sand clinging---

telling the tale signs of weather movements
not yet visible upon horizons vision---

whispering soft respite in dank humid moments
a storm is hours away from breaking,
leaving in the same way whispers come,
quietly and unlikely to be repeated.

Then I
myself
create the slightest of particle movements
as I stride and sit
grin and ****.

Wrapping around me, scent of night
unheated air, falling coolness

I ignore the dinner party and breathe
a current spray, far from the beach dunes     kissing my olfactory system
almost-ready-to-fall rain's unmistakable scent
dressing me in anticipation

wisdom of these tides
sing deep within me
as the salt hangs on my lips
I read the air.