Something in the salty breeze
penetrates my skin
and reaches the tips of my fingers and toes,
and the words that are hidden in every crevice,
afraid of light,
maybe because they are charcoal black themselves,
clasp onto the magnet,
the mysterious force,
with open arms,
instead of the usual battle with the fear of forgiveness,
an indomitable pestilence
but the words erupt
and flood the paper with more than just ink.
And for a while, the words tease me
read me
read me
but I do not succumb
Pandora’s work is done
and if someone ever reads them,
one with the same fortune as I,
I hope they find Pandora too.