Shuffling to my writing spot on the couch, t-shirted back to window, thoughts toast on a buttered-yellow breeze. Outside smells like warm soil and cat piss. Damn these neighborhood cats and their territorial issues. I wonder briefly about setting up a sprinkler system to douse them in vinegar water.
Gaia sparkles in shades of white-blonde sands,
hair flowing into her liquid dress. Pastel lips float
above the horizon, a lighthouse for weary travelers
who bury their faces at her feet. Her voice caresses
them in a mermaid’s lullaby, smoothing them over
as worn pebbles, new worshipers of the sea.