Reid@YWP

You are lying on wet sand. You look down. 

The coarse, damp grains cling to your fingers. 

They look ghostly white in the black sunlight. 

The sky is completely devoid of light, 

Inspired by the poem 'Fog' by Carl Sandburg.

He comes quietly, night after night,

soft four-toed footprints in the frosted grass.

He rolls over, and over, stretching

I am grateful 

For the feeling of joy 

The feeling of peace 

Of happiness 

I am grateful for 

My little sister's cheery face 

My friend's laughter 

its tongue flicks at me.

out of the puddle of saliva rolls a pearl.

it dissolves.

what does it want from me?

it slithers away, back to its damp home.

A book lover who reads by flashlight and dreams of living in a cottage by the sea, 

and running a bookstore with tinted windows and plants spilling down shelves, 

Setting: A crowded departure concourse for a broken, underfunded train system in an improving, but problematic city train station. The subject: A mother.

10 minute delay.