this little wrist
of sand

marks many
a morning’s search

wave worn
and shore washed

like shells
stones

or broken bits
of coral

tossed about
in tidal bows

once i woke                 certain there was no god
once i watched           a mountain lion bound the trail before me
once i walked             with venus and jupiter in the pre-dawn sky
once i was

where does such wild come from?
why does the full of the moon excite us so?
when you died, did you collect all the perfect petals?