Upon holiday skates—listening as we do—asking more questions.
The wreckage has passed, or is it immortal?
I would eat history, similar to sea grass, trekking and trailing marsh-grounds,
I needed to Lean In, to Hold Tightly, to share the Weight.
The debt of it is the friendship.
At a shoreline, ebbing and flowing, watching as we do.
Those that lived, their beauty, the way we’d Lean In;
Such naturality. Such precious memories. To unzip a diary and see a face.
