)a break?(

Beneath the soft crumbling of shale

and the sloped faces of the

sea-bruised cliffsides,

there’s a spot where the waning sun strikes a salt crusted smear of dandelions

and there,

when their leaves unfurl and emerge

from their stagnant chrysalis

and they raise their meek, bowed

heads

That- that is where your lungs

will fill,

finally

and

your

parched throat

and

your

bruised eyes

and

your

barbed wrists

can rest.