Moxie

some days are soft. like dandelions. held against inside of hands. where lines blur. like the ones. between water and sand. I am left. on the brink of defined elation and abstractness. some waves are rough. I am knelt. thinking of uprising and submersion. for one who cannot swim. would she win against tough current? yet still I will dive in. with moxie unrelenting. for torrent waters breed prowess at their calling.