when time was short
we stood and walked
down to the white shore
hopping, log to log, foot to foot
these giants are only so much driftwood
wide and thick enough
if i slide through a crack i will be lost and never found
i am home, i think.
summer above me dilligently rips holes in the fog
our feet find the gravel
not-red carpet spread out by milleniums of waves
these rocks are alive
chancing to trip on one
roof kicked away, a scuttling family is awakened
wow, i murmur
a gateway to the days of sack lunches and field trips
i am home, i whisper.
for every smooth-worn stone
we find a creature of matching size and hue
the rocks we displace come up in clumps
fingering our way around schizophrenic circumferences
we find black-purple shellfish
who have adorned themselves in pebbles
the longer we walk
the more naked they are
like orges, we crush the barnacles
pushing the mussels into the sand below all of this
we run out of moral impediments
standing at the edge
sand absolved of the duty to play landlord
i am home, i say
and race him back up the trail.

back to notes from the little black book