Salty Words

The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, one of my favorite films, hauntingly irresistible in black and white. The sun neither rises nor sets as the words stir in the tide. Like fabric, I touch and feel the throng of poetry, and roll the plenipotentiary words between my palms like playdough. full-throttle captain he ponders and tugs his beard — ethereal sea Mrs. Muir welcomes his salty words of times past — this ghost is her muse The grit on my fingers, its mineral on my tongue, its scent of salty fish I inhale, as I tap on a cordless typewriter, my billowing blouse compliments the snow-white window treatment flapping in the windswept seaside cottage - but a dream. the sand beneath feet bare and entertained, tickled by my inward muse 8/1/2019