28 spring tide
Your young volcanic mouth: river, milk, honey.
This heat wave, consumed and consuming
your first knot: a heart unraveling, bravely
into the ocean. You spawn stones of geodetic lust, bright and brief,
your great adventures: swing, teeter, slide.
They said it was no small hole
in your heart stopped mightily that day
the dim voice entered.
Spitback of ash.
The high bar you fell from, back up again:
you are the love wave, breaking
through seaweed and bivalves, the golden seismic
tremors we devour.
Sleep, my love, sleep.
Published online March 01 2009.