We were cities. Tiny cities lined with beaches. Strips of sand. Abandoned grit castles.  Parapets. Insects climbing silt balconies. Teeny tiny ants looking up at the tiny grit terrace. Ants floating in the moat.  Dead. Salt shells. Skeletons. Bones buried under crabs. Looking at the clouds. Looking at the clouds. Wishing we were cities. Being swallowed by tsunamis. Over and over, wishing we were bigger. Could walk on water. Wishing we were big clouds that passed over great big cities. Like tsunamis. Dead.  We were grains buried in each other, trying to be countries.

 

‘colorado”

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