by Andrea K

I am leaning into
the wind;
it fills the lines
above my brows,
air-brushes my lashes
with seasoned salt.

Half-remembered echos
sneak through doors left ajar
to whisper through
the eye of the needle,
as I stitch this heart up
one more time.

Story Page back to the Short Story Page.

By-Pass, 4 August 2005