The dirt under her nails isn’t chic. She comes by her red brick lips the hard way, which is fine if you don’t mind clay in your throat. That hardpan doesn’t even know she’s there, scratching with her pencil, trying to form words. The wind and water made it look so easy, etching a coastline one grain at a time. How do you learn to make bricks with mud when the rain won’t let up? Or how to make mud when the rain won’t come? The straw is only an afterthought, unless you’re a swallow. Yes but then we are not birds and our instincts take us into layers they never dreamed. So come with your soiled nails and clay lips, we’ll be the envy of windblown waves.