Shadowland Drive-Thru

A ton of blind glitter angled
into a left slide
asking & answering
all the eternal questions

but at the turquoise insistence
of hooded anemones & seaweed blossoms
wrecked on plumes of alluvial steel

It’s true you can turn your head
in answer sometimes to avoid the approval
of what must be tears returning like gulls
above the jetty

just as the words scrawled here dissolve
into the blank white emptiness of the page

& you can paddle out
but as the puppet of an inexorable grace
into the surging ocean waves
paved for sunset