it has been the slowest tide in millennia
the moon went traveling to a distant star
leaving the ocean in such a state
lovers are lost
wolves are incensed
the estrus is in peril
meanwhile
the tide drags itself out
foam curling like lazy toes under bed covers
rising against gravity
disappearing momentously
up
into a serpentine mountain of water
reaching
for its fading mate
the moon

the wave holds time
inside the precipice of its crash
a breathless, silent
pause

the moon looks back, gently
seeing only a warm farewell