Pneumatic Sandcastle

Thrill in exalts: a child climbs on the curving statue.

Upon the urns of the sand, a kite birds away

from the crowd’s hands. Mother Sophia smiles

at the paperbacks burning in the sun along rocks.

Blister, spirit. Call my legs to your front door,

towards the shipwrecks of passed sins and say,

“Take this, some of you, and know it. This is my

breath, which is flowing for all of you today.”