Not night or day,
therefore both.
A sun, drycaked against warm lithe tar
tasting my brine throat
fossil crushed bottles on my palms
wondering
if the water had never tasted rock
and if stony lungs
flux an old well
with sea glass so small
you may never cough
without a sharp twinkling dust
stinging of brine,
tasting of iron.

-Arielle Martinez

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