100 miles inland

The wind in the trees roars like waves
rising and breaking, tumbling,
rolling onto sand,
and ebbing away.

Closing my eyes, I imagine the sea
flowing in between the hills,
filling the valleys,
rising up around the house.

I dream I am standing at the window
looking out across water,
glowing pale in the moonlight.
It stretches away, endless.

In the morning cicadas wake me.
The ground is warm and dry
and dusty beneath my feet.
But there is a smell of salt in the air.

 

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