Tentative Summer

Shoresure

The Atlantic smashes itself to smithereens, drags all its wretched bits to the rocks and throws itself up as foam around my ankles.

Far out just before the sea and sky merge and deep below the surface the whole decon-reconstructive process

Starts again. An uncomfortable lump that swells and bursts and smashes and drags and vomits

and me, here. Nursing the invalid ocean through its numbing blues and nauseous hues because winter turns us all to haggard patients.

Hot chocolate in a paper cup in my hands. The salt in the air takes the edge of its sweetness; makeshift warmth in a storm. We are waiting for sun.

LOON

I turned the little light on

Picked up a pen

To say hey, I don't love you anymore.

And it's freeing to say for me

And good for you

You can walk away without a clawmark on you.

And I was lucky to have feathers

And a body full of blood

To weather out this storm til it was warm.

Thank you for the sunlight

Thanks for the stars

That I followed til I reached this rocky shore.

And here you are a peacock

Flirting with the hens

Parading all your greens and iridescent blues.

I'm across the pond from you

A different creature

A solitary forager, a loon.