She cracked the spine

and reflected upon

its glaring whiteness

with accelerated pulse,

intruder in paradise.

*

Frowning, she discarded

several nibs, stuttering

chicken scratch on

hotel stationery before

selecting an instrument

suited to her purpose,

ink which swelled

like forever tides on a shore

of sea-spun glass.

*

Pen paused over paper,

footfall unwilling to mar

the perfection of powdered sugar,

undisturbed beach

sweet in its virginal rest.

*

But her story begged,

cajoled,

dictated an ending –

and she began in a tremble

to add the denouement

*

with strokes grown firm

as words poured, splashed,

filled page

after page

after page,

deliberately crossed t’s

and dotted i’s lapping,

emboldened tidal waves,

characters

and plots and twists

painting her legacy

on sandy canvas.

*

And still she wrote,

late into the night,

knowing that every error

could be edited out,

every encounter

re-worked to melt

seamlessly, sunset into sea,

a story only she

could write.

*

And she wrote.