Carmel

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The universe has stilled this morning.
Quiet breathing and puppy sniffs,
a copper latch cradling that arched door from 1926.
But I am wakeful this morning.
Bashful of the sun, I linger in the light of 7:30.
Brisk air, a light drizzle coats my arms
like henna paint and golden bangles. Light, gentle.
I touch the reddening earth and feel the sun’s awakening
on loose strands of chocolate hair.
A lover’s touch. Electric and smooth.
Gulls fly overhead, chirps that sing over Victorian rooftops
and ride the wind to seaside docks.
High tide waves and turtle migrations.
Empty shells and eternal sands.
How passionate they are,
to make love to to the rocks and foam and fog.
Creation in the name of God.
I roam past the daffodils and the cooing fountains.
Narcissus’ flowers. Narcissus’ reflection.
Nostalgic and timeless, like bottle rockets
and paper airplanes nesting on power lines.
We live in lines. Linear. Left to right. Longitude. Latitude.
But we succumb to a sphere. Titled world. Gravity’s pull.
Bad habit cycles and phoenix ashes.
Even the strings of marigolds in our hair live and die with the seasons.
Sun. Rain. Snow. Fog. Creation in the name of God.
I crawl back into bed. Down comforters and quiet breathing.
The universe has stilled this morning.
At the fringe of the Pacific, I catch serenity
and keep her in my pocket.
Supple cotton and perennial blooms.
I close my eyes and doze to the gulls’ croon.
– Samantha Prasad

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