A thousand tiny bells

Seashell crashes on seashell, the ringing of a thousand tiny bells

The ringing of a thousand little dead things

There’s a storm somewhere far away, I can smell it

I can see the pulled cotton of the rain meeting the sea

Perhaps there’s something to be said about loose ends and frayed threads

And the lightning, the faraway flashing like a flipped silver coin, 50/50

Flashing like the dying throes of a tarpon

Hooked by the gill

When I reach for your hand the only thing I notice

Is that sand and water slip through my fingers all the same