seven sunrises later

 it hurt so much

stone stomach

critical hit

critical mass

nothing but an empty space in the driftwood

framing a texture of waves

and a memory of a summer

that was spent lonely

driving 

flea market

estate sale

before you

worked

and before you

had 38 hours of part-time work

and a fire pit you bought for $5

and that one successful turn

after watching the colour of pomengranates

you had hope

it lasted for 5 years

and faded like a polaroid left in the sun