He rolled into my little sandy town
And drew me in like the moon pulls the tide.
We played on the beach till the sun went down
And danced in the dunes, under a star-soaked sky.    

The air was heavy in the summer heat
And his skin was soft when he held my hand.
We walked with the ocean in our bare feet
Making footprints in the warm ivory sand.  

We only had three short months by the bay
Now our summer’s a memory haunting
Like the ocean tide you drifted away
And left me with a bunch of nothing.  

Heartbreaks, like seashells, are a dime-a-dozen
But there’s nothing sweeter than summer loving.

the
     sky
           was
can    dy    lu
minous
            edible
spry
        pinks shy
lemons
greens    coo    1 choc
olate
s.

  un    der,
  a    lo
co
mo
      tive        s  pout
                               ing
                                     vi
                                     o
                                     lets

Now you’re gone I see love is a garden
Naturally tender, it needs help to grow
Without constant care, soil will harden
A love needs to bask in the sun’s sweet glow.
Feed your garden daily. Water it, too.
It takes time and care, but soon it will bloom
The fruits of hard labor, laid out for you
A ripe beauty with the sweetest perfume.  

But be wary of the weeds that break through
And turn your sweet soil into a tomb
******* the life from your tender garden.
My garden dried up, there’s nothing to do
But melt in this desert, forever doomed
To grieve a love that’s lifeless and hardened.

2 and 2 are 4.
4 and 4 are 8.

But what would happen
If the last 4 was late?

And how would it be
If one 2 was me?

Or if the first 4 was you
Divided by 2?

Please, scrawny love, just last a month or two
And I’ll water you with good intentions.
Your frail leaves quiver as the wind blows through
Consume my thoughts and devour my attention.

Please, scrawny love, just grow a little more
Even spout some buds, and lay down some roots
I’ll feed you with fondness, it’s never a chore
I live for the promise of your tender fruit.

Please, scrawny love, don’t waste away just yet
I know my affection is not enough
Your leaves wilt and I’m left with regret
Helpless as you shrivel dry and tough.  

Time marches on and the seasons must change
A stale, wilted love is all that remains.

Searching my heart for its true sorrow,
  This is the thing I find to be:
That I am weary of words and people,
  Sick of the city, wanting the sea;

Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness
  Of the strong wind and shattered spray;
Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound
  Of the big surf that breaks all day.

Always before about my dooryard,
  Marking the reach of the winter sea,
Rooted in sand and dragging drift-wood,
  Straggled the purple wild sweet-pea;

Always I climbed the wave at morning,
  Shook the sand from my shoes at night,
That now am caught beneath great buildings,
  Stricken with noise, confused with light.

If I could hear the green piles groaning
  Under the windy wooden piers,
See once again the bobbing barrels,
  And the black sticks that fence the weirs,

If I could see the weedy mussels
  Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls,
Hear once again the hungry crying
  Overhead, of the wheeling gulls,

Feel once again the shanty straining
  Under the turning of the tide,
Fear once again the rising freshet,
  Dread the bell in the fog outside,—

I should be happy,—that was happy
  All day long on the coast of Maine!
I have a need to hold and handle
  Shells and anchors and ships again!

I should be happy, that am happy
  Never at all since I came here.
I am too long away from water.
  I have a need of water near.