Heap of Light

The last mouthful of mead –
and the heap of light
troubling your vision
resolves,
fractures,
discovers itself
in a million particles of city.
No song would suffice
to bring you home.
No home exists
but the one
this city is not.
This heap of light
upon dark waters,
this precious body,
this home you carry,
this unforgiving now.
***

Come now, look at the sea

Come now, look at the sea.
A quiet walk on the beach –
After the women in bikinis,
And the men in broken boats
Have gone home –
That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?
Took you years to arrange
Matters to your satisfaction.
They even cleaned the beach for you –
No plastic bottles, no coconut shells,
No stink of rotting fishing nets
To mask the salt tang of your sea.
Only thunder on the far clouds.
Only wind drying the two rocks
You remember from yesterday.
Where are the waves, you ask?
The grey froth lacing the grey sand?
The dull roar of surf on rock?
The flat steel of sun baked water?
Come now, look at the sea.
It will return if you walk to it.
***

For Summer

The things we do
To hold on to summer.

We call friends
We let go once –
And hate their guts.

We learn to write –
Awkward stories
No one will see.

We revisit mornings
With avocado on toast –
An old lover’s favorite.

We drink away nights –
To conjure perfection
In a new lover’s arms. 

We read in the sun –
As if it were escape,
As if we would run.

We make promises
To heal our hurts –
As if we knew how.

We sit by the sea –
To drown our guilt
In blood-warm waves.

The things we do
To hold on to summer.
***