by the sea face in face
a child’s visage open
fraught in fear, freedom and friendship
predators, salt, sand
waves crash, rocks cut
chest crushing breaths
from watery garden sea sponge plucked
beside shells and stones
by a farcical display
feigning, fawning, flaunting: fearful now
petulant sand in shoe
soaks nothing better
no return, no exchange

for whom threadbare scraps
are treasures under your table
deserts, ever undulated dunes

in picture-book perfect gales

stripping away like sandpaper
perhaps the sting of salt rain
shall sterilize this wanting within

give up shallying; on finding and sharing
what could be thought of as inner beauty
when these hirsute thoughts bristle again
berating what little of self regard remains
it’s but an exaggeration to point out hate
when clearly it wasn’t my poem but myself
that lay on literature’s butcher-block altar

just like open sunlit skies above
which kept our days ever bright
whose bare-all gaze shoved us
to sanctuary from blistering glare

we always kept our shadows in sight

tents and those world tree ash boughs
carried us to roman candles of night
matsuri: our own non-roman holiday --
summer may be gone but these remain