the morning she left for the pacific northwest
i step onto the beach alone
six great blue heron
fly low and heavy over my head
ghost print upon the land
spring now
white egrets come back to the marsh
black ibis flock with their long curved beaks
long before light
a deep orange moon hangs over the water
that dusk
we walk the railroad tracks to the place
i pick up two small bones bleached white by time
set them between cast aside scallop shells
cover with dry sand that blows in all directions
as i walk to water's edge
dip the bones
ablution
two mornings later
returning from the scarborough line
caught in mind chatter
hoof prints in wet sand stop me
a deer has found a way
across tracks, between buildings, both sides of the road
to an opening
water's edge
sometimes these days
an empty restlessness so strong comes upon me
i must walk for miles
i am so starved
no amount of food will fill me
no man on the internet will take it away
no new place to move will fix it
in the night i dream of childhood
my mother long gone
i wake from sweet dreams of men who 'passed' years ago
painting tiny dots of all colors on the grain of wood
then pink
returning light
roaring sound of waves
this heartbeat in the darkness
angel wings cast upon the sand