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.

Poetry Only cover image

This piece was published in ‘Poetry Only,’ the Spring 2009 issue of CV2.

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