.
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.
