an edge curls up
on my sheet of postage stamps
i too
unfastened; unplanted;
unsorted; unset
pull back from placement
backwards glance
side-ward eyes
hands mid-torso at the ready
a wave approaches
to cool the skin or settle a simmering heat
i hold my breath
until the current thrusts past
boldly rushing about the tightened muscles of my substance
unearthing bone
backwards glance
toes pushed in sand
hands forced down to find balance
nothing is at the ready
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