Cape Hatteras, North Carolina, US.

Waft

A stately puff chattered (as I sat rooted to the shoreline)
until I pulled it down out of the sky into the empty chair
next to mine.
And was surprised at the weight,
how it gathered substance – like a slow-boil cauldron,
in a marvelous struggle of fluid tugs and re-adjustments
as it gathered bulk in the chair.

We watched our kind run up the beach
darkened patch of wave or blistered engine,
and wondered aloud about our kind,
life packed inside skin and not-held vanilla gauze.
We talked of travel and shadows,
of pies and warm currents.

At conversations end – our bubble’s tension over,
we traded parting gifts.
I took in a lavish breath
and felt the cloud cross into blood,
then gave my blood-breath in return
to carry and exchange again
as song or spark.

© Regina Coll