Peaked Cliff, Sagamore Beach, March 2023

Lipstick smeared across the side of my face 

as if it was the memory of a limping foot across the sand 

grey moves in like a leopard, hungry, the sky:          

the concupiscent sun’s lip against my throat 

then withdrawn, repulsed

stilling myself enough to listen to the listening sound:

a tongue: twitching after twisted syllable

I try to hear, to notice 

thunder in the thick 

air the gasconading smell before the rain begins to heave

my clogged ears rotate toward the something hum

of blood the pump and thrum, 

an ultrasonographic proof of life

the thing is I just:

I want to feel good:

feel like a wall perfectly plastered

my ambitions angle all toward ataraxy oh:

to be a wave-watcher, a walking crab

a rounded stone more vibrant when it’s wet

a salt-worn log, a seamark

to catalog and classify the winds 

evening and morning I chirp toward the ceiling 

and in day between, the chuckling of gulls becomes 

a language intelligible inside the space of my feeling

My feeling, a shiver of thanks

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