In somehow chilling ways that
the paranormal begins to haunt
with words, a combination of presence
growing in faith, dreams, images to
call home, to rest... to rest.
Full throttle, they travel east
from here with each step over these
grounded whitecaps frozen in time.
The air is bitter, unstable footing
and a twisted ankle, ice packed for
both. It was a force, for lack of
something more specific to recall,
that made me repeat those exact words
and then read them again for the first
time in spooked context.