Three princesses born of no man,
Touched magic with infant hands
Grasping, culling, casting
Three princesses dwelling
Where no man can

The collapsing tide lurks
with rogue waves
gathering energy,
swaying to the moon
until it returns to upend
the diligent castles
we’ve built of sand

Fallow;
ice scarred and sun scorched,
untilled and untillable,
thrush, worn, and wasted

Bones of the land,
grow inward from the shore

White coral sand blossoms
and burns at the edges;
dry, blasted

our broken lands

The light of shadows,
dim and incomplete,
hold memories
thin and indiscreet

Two months ago I lamented the lack of silence
between cars passing.
Never a full moment, never a breath
where the sound of one approaching
or one leaving did not intrude
upon the silence of the wind in my trees,
or the birds in my yard.

Now there are stretches of moments
where no car, motorbike, or truck
blemishes the peace.

Long moments I cherish,
until the blare of the next ambulance.