just sat inside for the lack of light;
night kept on for weeks. several coat-
pockets later, something choked up.
something let out. here, you
were a shell imprinted into the cliffs,
watching over darkened and still waters.
waiting to fall. clasped in tender hands:

dirt, glass shards, rust filings, discarded
seaweed on wire hook. there, you
were sediment compounding under your
footmarks. slipping towards faith, first shivering
the second you put down fingerprints in the shade.

the sun trickled soft through pine needles,
you'll always be as beautiful as that light;
some half-hour distant, you'll find out.

so, as salt-spray wears teethmarks into
your sleeping motions, i sit upon
the shoreline and collect handfuls of
pebbles, full of hope your curvatures
will curl out of these coagulated beds,

these hollows i lay awake in.