I made a home
for myself there
on the beach at
the end of the world
breaking shafts of
light across my knee
as if they were wood
or hearts
or other things
that you can use
to start fires
under a weak shelter
made of open air
and palm fronds
strung together like
sudden coincidences
I spent moonlight carving
art into the sand
to be washed away
like sins at high tide
under a sky always
the color of the sea
below; reflected.
walking the shore in
slow concentric circles
I built a map with no
tools or paper, using
the wrinkles and scars
on my hands as homemade
topography; proof of life.