The grass is short, the wind is high,
Between the ocean and the sky.
I stand upon the crumbling verge,
And listen to the water’s surge.
A dizzying height, a wild view,
Where all the world is born anew.
The seagulls wheel and dive below,
Where all the heavy currents flow.
Growing up by the ocean, Chloe’s work is deeply tied to the rhythm of the tides. She writes about the roaring sea, endless summer nights, and the bittersweet nature of fleeting coastal romances. Her debut...
The crickets sing their evening tune,Beneath a glowing, silver moon.The campfire sparks fly up so high,To join the...
The waves crash down upon the sand,A power I don’t understand.The salty spray upon my face,In this wild...