business of being

I hit the seaside early,

June gloom they call it

but I don’t find gloom

in the wind in my hair

and clouds baby-grey

close in embrace, they

kiss my cheeks with

salty mist

I am held

I walk alone, not

even eight and this

beach community

has long been

awake

families making sand

castles, riding waves,

bikini wearers braving

63 degrees, catching rays

on gravel turned sand

by rough surf

blinding in its infinite

cleanness, cool packed

sand, soft beneath my feet

I am held

waves approach and

retreat like my breath

like my tears like the

feelings I feel and those

I fear, something in me

says watch the waves

I watch the waves and stay

on sand and roll my

my sweats to keep

from getting soaked

and jump over big

brown seaweed and

scout out sharp shells

waiting to slice

I know how to be cautious

I know the task of safe-creating

starts with me

in toes on sand and air

in lungs

where am I not breathing?

here I eke it out, this

business of being