To The Tides What Follows Touch
Each day we foam ourselves into the shore.
We blend and go and swirl again
without a shipwreck’s flow.
Evening brings the salted winds,
the taste of our skin in the shadows of the palms.
The weight of where we’ve come
between the grains of sand.
We leave to the tides what follows touch,
each footprint a splash of moonlight
pulling us past the undertows,
out where the currents find their way.
The Drowning Years
Long before we washed away, I knew.
Billowing dark against the sky,
the end was a storm unbreakable.
Years earlier, that ghost began.
Our bodies touched like wind.
I’d put my ear to the grass
and hear those banshee calls
through the dark ocean of earth
from some future echolocation.
I couldn’t mask those phantoms
even with the cloud breaks of fatherhood.
At night I dreamed the rain would seep
into earth like blood.
It fed whatever was coming.
I ran outside without my shoes.
The earth swelled below my feet,
the approaching flood,
enough to drown
ever more the both of us.
Ice and Bone
We are made of ice and bone
and the weight of our accumulation.
It holds us here like branches under snow.
Each day the snowflakes land on us
heavy from falling down.
We wait for the sun’s alchemy
to melt us through to the other side
where we could see flush again.
It never comes, that forecasted magic
in our frozen world together.
Here resentment binds the wind
just for following horizons.
With a lion’s mane we slumber.
With a lion’s mane we winter on.