Tears fall, rain on
a dry day during
an Indian Summer.
Sun soaked and moon
drenched. Eye see.

Sighs slip, a warm
breeze bends the
willow and her wildflower
friends. I speak.

Hands touch, water
split by unwavering rocks
a fork forms. I feel.

Feet move, warm sand
marred by tidepools. I walk.

This body is a strange thing.