Bring a goat or sheep to the shore—
or the accused or the mad
or a hostile woman-
so near the knife’s edge of the sea
that their blood will spill into the brine.

The sea is bountiful,
but it must be fed.
Dark clouds gather.
You will smell it before you see it-
a black column of rain
blowing over the horizon

And the twisted bodies,
will roll in the surf
like empty shells
until the tide pulls them out.