Pearls in My Hands

I danced through dawn in a blanket of knitted threads, further blanketed by the blackness swimming through the night, yet I wasn’t warm. Nor was I cold. I was just living and more alive than ever before. Never more alive than when the world sleeps through the most magical moments as the sun and the moon cross paths. The wind was a song of sweet seduction, caressing its way through my ears, dredging the loneliness bubbling in my brain. The whispers of the waves wallowed around the bluffs, following my weaving steps through the sand, following my wandering mind through my dreams. I’ve never more been alive as every stride across the path, that no one has dared to travel this morning, was a step in the right direction, toward the moments and the movements that meticulously mull my midnight desires each night. The birds chirp choosing words for my mind to collect and turn into gold before my computer screen. They dip their beaks while I dip my toes into the ocean’s crashing hold, a carcass to the one I craved last evening. Yet surrounded by such liveliness, I couldn’t cry over the solitude that curdled in my blood this morning. I was no longer lonely. No longer loathing the loveless lust. Even the sailboats swam by, swaying in the sea as I swallowed a succumbing breath of salted air. Surrendering to the small moments of sweet sea air solitude. To the minutes of magic that could mend my heart and my harrowing mind. Drugged by the details of dawn’s supernatural, it drives me to develop a poem or piece of divinity. A piece where the puzzle finally makes sense, where the wind and the sea collide, where my thoughts and my heart love each other for once. Revelations of a creative spark finally creep into my world once again. Words start flowing like water. Letters bleed like love. The world has become a pearl in the hand of my pieces and mornings like this have become the oyster.