Perdido Key, July 2018

Let me feel the faith of hermit crabs waiting for the tide’s return.  

Let me be renewed by a fisherman walking to the surf near sunrise.

Each day.  Each morning.


To the voice chirping, “You are not enough,” I sing in kind,


“You may be excused.”


Because of the shape you make with your mouth.

The uncertainty in this body.

A ribbon of blood

Between thumb and flesh.

Because water carries the weight of days

Until I am full of worry and wonder.


We fumble with powder blue sunsets

We dive to a cooler layer where augers live.


You follow the curve of a ponderous arch.

To the brittle home of sand dollars.

The certainty of a shark eye on my tongue.


This is not a love poem or a death poem.

This is not a poem. This poem is a fish. A bird.


Let me break the gulf open with these ashes.

Let me know the rhythm of sargassum.

Each day.  Each morning.

These bodies in motion.




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