The Fourth - Julia Vance

Drag my ashes to the lake

where the resting water yearns to lick and lap at my sore, scorched feet.

Many moments and many miles imprinted on the crescent shore

and serrated rocks erect from beneath the grain.


Pebbles scatter among my desperate fingers

clawing at life

and lust

and love.


the water whispers the sound of metal against metal

sand stirs upward over the mountains in waning waves.


at the stream, pour me out and shake the bag.

I was zipped-

hermetically sealed.


In the water i float free