On pause in the edgeless air

I start them all off with green and let the acid clouds drift by
scratch away at the sun and gently pull apart the roots
as the birds drop stones on the roof
and cry about it​

luminous green after a heavy shower
nothing has edges
the clouds turn into the fields and it is all air stepping out into the mud white light
in the evening fog skimming the surface
soft nothing running water
blue dinner in the dark

​bright eruptions and a burnt nose cold spine every day in the wind blasting sun trap
humid leaf heat in the morning pushing green around
I stick a finger into the soil to see if it needs more water
scrape the mud across the light filling the gap
round and round heat on my neck
and the seedlings quiver in the breeze

​chalk swim at low tide wading in ankle deep further into the ice cold
milky wash and washed out sky white cliffs looming and leering too high
and too low
stomach scraping the sand three head dips and the tide
moves too quickly in the shallows
swallows the sand and our bags in the march morning heat

​I drag thin lines over and over again and please wait, we will answer you as soon as we can

a soft green hand reaches up into the light shivering brown
the growth got halted this year just like us
the wind off the sea killed half the new leaves on our tree
I wipe off the white and bring the green back hopefully
push the corner into the shadow
I plant seedlings out in storm force winds
their thin roots holding on best they can
we all just float together
restless and unanchored

Rhiannon Inman-Simpson