It’s mid-morning between tides
& my heart’s another nickel in the
jukebox. I’d like to break off a corner
of it on that mushy left dropping in on
the lip of bowl. That kind of passion digs
in on the dark side of bliss like an aquasonic
boom rattling the cathedral glass that lines the
tide pools just north of here. I felt like I was
embalmed in the ocean haze. A bar of
tombstone wax turning into candlelight
in my pocket. The sky wasn’t the color of
your eyes although it blinked & turned away
as you do when I’m being stupid.
My resumé fit nicely onto a grain of sand.
A grain of sand the size of your fist
your left fist which is roughly the size of