Who drives the wind?
The battered steppes in the North
Stand mute with cracked lips.
Where the roar of ocean crash resounds,
The wind whips like some old tyrant.
He whistles, remembering her pleasant face,
Long dead.
Then he takes up the whip and whistles some more,
As he strikes lightning on the tattered shore.

What a funny idea that there are more stars in the heavens than grains of sand on the beach at which I sit.
Scientists say that if all the beaches combined together, it still would be only a fraction of the stars.

I think sand is a lot like people. It groups together to fit in and yes, sometimes it's annoyingly stuck in your shoe - making you stumble - but that sand stays with you whenever or wherever you're headed. It travels to new places without hesitation and reminds you...........
of places,
of feelings,
of ideas.
Simple enough to be forgotten, complex enough to possess identity.

I like sand.
And I'm learning to like people the same way.

Thunder aground  
when its
sound would
dock and
fill a
truck with
sea ****
but coast
was free
here that
fought her
way through
fog felt
tonight it
rained only
gerrymandered her
legs bare.

We walk in tandem well past midnight
Summer tempest mad and young
The air charged thick with salt and clouds
And cherry ice still on our tongues;
Sandals dangling off hooked fingers
Remnant sand between our toes, with
Soles pressed lightly to the pavement
Slicked with rain and indigo;
A quiet laughter seals in spaces
Left unfilled by ocean roars, and
Ancient street lamps flicker hazy
As we pass by corner stores;
Joined together hand in hand,
Two bodies wading through the gale
While lightning bounces off the coast
And off your painted fingernails;

Over Seaford on a bridge with
Wind-swept hair and noses red
As leering thoughts about September
Hover over both our heads;
Porch lights crest around the turnpike
We go in through your back door
I plant myself into your sofa
Like the countless times before;
Stories travel back and forth
As storms wage war upon the beach,
Your lips and teeth move like you have
A homily you need to preach;
The talking turns to my departure
As we dry our soaking clothes
Against the glow of TV screens
With hearts and bodies left exposed;

Staring future in the eye
And met with nothing but abyss
I say with all my confidence
That I know this and only this;
It must have been an intervention
Of some Godly, cosmic breed
That gave me August in Delmarva
And a chance for us to meet;
When I’m settled back at home,
Your cadence just a reverie,
The transience of our acquaintance
Will have no effect on me;
Of all the talks we did exchange,
Not one has ever carved so deep
As when you told me everything
Upon the briny Chesapeake.

My hood protects me from the wind
So sharp it jabs just like a pin.
I bow my head and ***** my eyes
And tie the cord beneath my chin.

I wear my boots to keep me warm
Against the wind along the bay.
They keep me dry in muddy pools,
In sticky sands and salty spray.

I watch the tide, tossed by the breeze,
Shivering from its frisky chill,
Pushed along by nature's force,
Washed up the bay against its will.

I see  stout branches wave and sway,
And trembling twigs alive with fear,
Bending, blowing every way,
Wrestling with the atmosphere.

Clouds change their shade as they float past
From fluffy white to sombre grey,
Like kites up high without  their strings,
They swirl about then drift away.

Flapping hard against the wind
Gulls screech and scream their piercing cry.
They swoop and soar above the sands
With feathers ruffled as they fly.

My nose is red, my cheeks are pink.
I sniff the salt of grey green sea.
My breath is deep, my body leans.
I'm ready for a cup of tea.

We don’t have a name,
And our love isn’t something they write about.
I watch you scrawl some stains on a paper
As you tell me to go,
But I can’t.
I try to leave, but my molten feet stick to the floor.
The space between us is different from the others.
Am I a scribble in your black notebook?
Because your name is written countlessly,
In elegant, clear penmanship in mine.
But we aren’t that obvious and clear.
Our names aren’t printed on the latest newspaper,
To read all about.
Our hands don’t rush together in unison
When we walk down the sidewalk.
We survive through secrets,
Sending letters through underground cities.
We dance around the words of others,
As my mouth slowly meets yours.
We are a garden that ceased to exist,
But instead reversed..
You are a mystery,
Not in the typical manner.
You are not the one you can solve again and again;
But one that puzzles me every time.
You find me at midnight,
My hands are shaking, as I hold you, eyes bright.
Your palms are cold, thawed by the heat of your breath
And we sit.
Your peculiar eyes dazzle me.
It’s not an emerald green,
But the kind of green in a forest
Among an earl gray coast.
Nostalgic, but warm.
Rainy, but bright.
We are tenacious as one.
Through you I’ve lived a thousand lives;
Sipping pink lemonade in a rainy diner,
Standing on the Oregon coast,
The navy ocean biting at our feet and
Inviting us for an icy swim,
Chasing you down the Champs-Elysses,
Watching your eyes turn into London skies.
I’ve seen every bitter moment of your life,
From the bruises on your thighs,
To the thoughts you try so hard to bury away.
I love you from the faded buttons of your flannel
To the burning tips of your hair.

Please let us exist as one.

the coast, it is just as you promised.

         elusive--

the white stones shifting beneath my feet,
this wind. this rain,
the way the steely sky
trickles down to kiss the sea,
the indistinct rumors / hints / echoes of mountains
where the mist has slept with the trees.

                       vast, inconsolable:

the cliffs whisper to me
of their endless
journey to the horizon,
and captured in this fragrant
brushstroke of balsam and pine
I feel the damp northwest morning
soak into my skin,
and suddenly there is
an itching of feathers
and salt in my veins.

                                      {evergreen, wild}

                     for a second,
I bite into the marine chaos
of these dancing whitecaps,
and it is just as you promised.

untamable.


      pacific.

Spin on past, and knock me down. On the ground, is where ill bare my face. My true self without this mask.  Walking past dying trees, snow falling gently on my face. Look at me then, and you shall see, there is really nothing more to me. A hollow shell, numb from his past, an empty vessel, who will just pass.