Dusk

For every step she struggles with, they will crumble back to soil, to unturned earth. Poison the next seed with their pull.

But then they fall away. And she sees the sand. She feels the grains, the air sweeter than before. Sun warms the tide. She sees Her: a body rising from the foam, water sloughing off in bolts. Baja meeting Alta.

And then—collision.

They turn into the water, a thrash in the waves, where she meets her and then they tumble together. Seafoam churning as she is pulled out, sputtering, wincing at salt.

The others come soon after. Each hitting the water, each held in a pair of arms. Each has rocks or bone or glass pried out from their grasp to be taken, to tide them over until the next call.

The next journey through sand and through stone, to be held and to hold. The Santa Ana winds running once more. Running to the coast to meet the tide.