Brown hair drip
drops down onto
black squishy flip flops
and
seamless white plastic shower floor.

Then it is tan sand
and saltwater spray;
and the great gray-blue ocean
lies before bare burrowing toes
and air vent breaths
are washing tides
and the shushing breeze.

She is naked and young and alone
tan, svelte and smooth
squeezing sea from dark tangled hair
on a beach
where air smells sweet
salt, not stinking seaweed
and everything the temperature of her body.
The sun burns not too hot or bright
in pastel-streaked sky
rays not of needle glares but cotton.

The standing,
quiet calm
no chatter but seagulls
air enough to fill both lungs:


a world that is plush and halcyon
and needs no reason