We see
loggerhead turtles
conceive milky blue
seeds into the sand;
careful, flippers kick
their reprimand if
we walk too near;
"Stay, love, near
and hold my drink the
Moon is not the only
thing to sink", she
whispers under wind-
blown blonde strands
The whiskey tumbler
crinkling in my hand...
If ever the poet's heart lit
in the dark it calmly forges
enviable sparks here,
in the soldering, stuttering steps of two souls
trapeezing the dunes of
animals where
our rhythms construe that
an irreverent heaven has
washed ashore
and the fears of our lives swim no more...
