the rippling end
of the suns reflection
like rain

Light on the water
the clouds shape
sheening the swells with pearl
before the wave.

How used are my eyes
to the immediate, to the
limits of a bent neck.

The salt and light conspire
to force the challenge.

And I sit here, clutching
them to me, for too often
I have fallen away like
the foam,
retreating, without
in my turn rushing forward
to prove the immovable.

A young man’s stand
for I am yet too young
for wisdom to mean
passivity.

I will force the challenge.

I am trying to walk this way
north, towards the northern star
but i do not care to arrive at the northern star
I simply look for what is in that direction

geese outside
call the hour
a breath

through a seam in the blinds
the sun
still

glasses case
when will it
come back to me