I yearn for a life of loose clothes and footsteps
Easy smiles and arms, draped like scarves about shoulders
A life of contact and salt-washed skin
Arguments heated by the sun and rinsed off with the dishwater of an evening meal

Glorious nothing, it calls to me as if it were already mine
To toy with and pretend not to pretend that it is real and I am in it
To believe in the haze of those times that could be happening somewhere
To someone that could be me, somehow

Glorious nothing
I could make it my all, given the right conditions
Carve out contentment in the sandy rivers that water-fall
From the cliffs of my foot-bridge
Dropping over great cavernous edges of toe to rejoin familiar regions

Make a life around it there instead of here

But I don’t believe it needs me much
Not more than my family might
Or I believe I earned something else in the unknowing
And now my debt is stacked and not against the door of a beach hut