The glare of the afternoon sun
caught sight of your hands
as they grazed my skin,
lightly committed lines leaving traces
like sand grains, sprinkled thinly into glistening patterns
where our dry backs meet the ocean
and gave in to melting.
What I mean to say
is that I cherish these soft days
where souls are christened with sea salt
and float atop peace waves,
where healing is a boat
that casts out its anchor
on the beach shores of our suffering,
nets spread tenderly with intentions
to carry the load off my mind.