Out On the Reach


Out on the reach that binds
the earth to sky to sea,

there is a green beacon,
searching out the drunken ship.

Empty vessel brightens,
lessens, torches and speaks --

giving light as the moon spills
tunnels of water, wave over wave,

spray taking spray.
White foam, blue foam passages

cleanse, wash, and whistle
the pulled-back beach

like chattering salt-bones.
Age reaps the calloused rock;

a chitonous shell drinks the sea
from the breath of the sea.

First published in Convergence Journal.