When the Blues Visit

I know sadness well.
It doesn’t knock.
It settles—
like fog on still water.
But I’ve built lifelines.

A record spinning.
A sentence half-formed.
A shop that smells of incense and wonder.
I believe in magic rocks,
because sometimes you need
a weight in your palm
to remind you:
You’re still here.

The sea returns.
So do I.