Tangled knees dizzy me past the dunes, sharp grasses whistle cuts into my sand-blasted calves. I’m burning skin for paper things out here, flicking sand after copper shavings. Monarchs open & close their wings— their paths penned cursive, swift in salt wind, slow in still, over blood-brain tide. Butterflies at sea catch current & soar. What to do but toss my sandals and swim alongside south? They write the whole way there, in letters languid & scrawled, home, home, home Leela