The Cells

The ocean has been violently loud these past few nights. The air has been heavy with salt and tough skins of fish. The wildfires are ravenous, purple plumes drape the bony vertebrae: the soft fleshy fur crumbles in the hot wind skirt of the dance. The ground beneath seems like its trembling. At night the waves are louder, the sound of hard wind blowing through hard trees. There is a battle pulling the skin of the earth taut and tart.

Does anyone smell the air and hear the waves, or is the change local, internal?

There is dirt beneath these nails, a calm, settling, age, cells: division, growth. The waves are so loud they sound like thunder.