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.