The Name of the Rose

The wind backs down the tide
picks up & we're no different

Time spins to the ground
& yr eyes are sand formations
constantly shifting          changing color
though if the light catches them just right they
could be mirrors
suffused in restless ocean gray shadows rippling
in pale sunlight

The mockingbird sings the same song 
but in a higher register

& yr soul if it even exists
I couldn't say if any of us for certain but
something in the air anyway
besides this damp compression of tinsel mist
reaching down to rap its knuckles against the waves

or remember how someone else may have said it
& how easy it was to forget