TEXT: Soft Breezes / rhythms of pounding surf, / smell of salt, sunscreen and baby oil, / the cries of gulls / mud bath treatments, drip castles, / that extra crunch in the peanut butter / of sand ON THE OTHER PAGE: Is it true mermaids turn to foam upon the sea?
TEXT: I will remember all the trees I climbed. Tall swinging free in the breath of the breeze. Except the one that caught the beautiful dime store ring. And squeezed hard.