Where the grass and light meet

There is this place
at the beach in a
sort of sand dune
valley where you are
one crest away from
your first glorious view
and the grass and the
light meet and mix
perfectly.

Things are always
breaking down,
but happiness is
not something to
be sneered at.

I try to quantify,
but the dirt under
my fingernails only
stares back at me,
unresponsive.

It is not a tragedy.

You point at the
Harriers as they
do their dance.
He circles, showing
off, flying in patterns,
as she follows.
We drink our
drinks and watch
the sun go down.

I walk into a room
that is filled
with something
I can’t breathe.

Self-talk works to
calm me, but I am
getting tiered of
my own repetitions.