you can shake your fist at any
foaming coast but her
break remains unscathed,
her scorn in
waves,
her calm in
tides,
wet snarls pacified in
moon-swept stages.

you are barefoot:

some pedestrian gesture of worship.
avoiding the shells
and ghost crabs
that litter the beach
at gloaming.
you’re roaming again.
seek wrists with guilt
and urgency
and pretension.
notice your veins rock,
glisten,
with munition.

life’s a seething blade and
the ways you have learned to assuage are more
permanent in placement
if you say it.
you watch your arms become
tributaries,
your feet become your fingers
now,
saying nothing
going forward.

watch your toes curl in
sand before you start wading.
you are seeking a quiet rest
inside of yourself.

you are seeking the wreck
that laid you.

 

5.

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