Poems

provision

a stealthy heron
stalks a sinking sun

while waders skim the waterline
to follow and feed

and all I bring
is a pen that sometimes

spells your name
in a lick of ink along a line

of tides swept in under mind
and over sand

flipping lacy hems:
a seductress sea

certain of its goal
buffed up against gusts

that take us back to where
we never were
...