​​As to the tide’s turn, I 


do not know the exact moment, or if        
there is one, only that gradually 

there is no inward press, 
tall rocks take on a sheen and glisten

as the sea pulls away
leaving the scent of salt and iodine,

much like the old story of the heart,
surge then turn,  

and how at low tide
sea urchins gleam in the wake

of the receding rhythm 





Is to be

    
All day the sky is white on white, sparrows
at the feeder, then gone. You remind me 

the stars are out there no matter, all
this emptiness a place to fill, sand

waiting for the sea. And if I say space
you say God, if I say thimble you say

umbrella, when I start to think about rain
rain starts to think about rain or us or 

something it can’t name while falling. No wind
like the other night hard at the window. 

Remember the first time, that new language,
rising tide, that desire, one word at a time &

those flood gulls overhead. You know what you
were wearing. And whatever the heart says

about the heart or the one inside of that, 
the body’s language is to be trusted and is 

a compass immaculate as a great white bird 
approaching land.