Slow as the gradual awakening
of some hulking behemoth
A BLAST OF BLEACHED BLONDE BLUES
IN B-FLAT
(ref. The Odyssey, Book Eleven,
A Manual of Surfing)
& dragging the crucible & 40 links of chain
up from the shorebreak across the wet sand
at dawn
(The sun has yet to show itself but it’s light enough
to know it’s still dark
& the ocean is radiating abalone shell
iridescence
a point of entry & return within that
broken dissolve of mist & sand
& it’s like skin popping a few
thought provoking strands of neon
leaning hard into the shadow you left there
mid-tide
flat against the damp pavement