Winter Bay

Clapboard boats bob
on bay waters, mud-green
with lapping white tongues.
The souls of dead fish
rise from their wakes.
Seagulls laugh,
marionettes of the air,
waiting for one to stray.
The bridge scoops the sky
winding midway between
heaven and sand.
On the beach,
invisible scales and pouty gills,
pearly-gray shells flipped
gaping wide,
lobster legs and fish eggs,
piper tracks and eel grass,
abandoned tortoise backs;
the dead stay close to home.

Soar

I want to go to Lily White’s party
Where fluffy soft marshmallows
Dance on candy corn peaks.

I taste the honeycomb breeze.

I live in an igloo
Wrapped within sealskin,
Polar bear fur at my feet.
My family sings in atonal
Crescendos.

I close my eyes and breathe.

A tent by a river.
I toss in my line,
Bury my head in the sand.
Sun beats me down.
Water laps like a tongue at my feet.

I sigh without smiling.

I tiptoe in dreams
Of silvery darkness,
No escape from the gaping
Cavernous mouths.
Sleeping bats hang like
Pustules on the tip
Of a green witch's nose.

In a room with no ceiling
I sleep under stars
Paving a path through the clouds.
As a ghost I aspire to
Hook onto heaven,
Pull myself up by the feet,
Up and away from roadmaps
And daydreams,
Climb up the astral stairs.
I ride on a comet and duck
behind shadows, a journey
to never by means of nowhere.

Rain

It’s pouring
Vertical sheets of glass
Cars splash deep-pocketed puddles

If you were here
We’d listen together
Protected
Only mist through the fine mesh screen

I want the rain to flow into my skin
Swirl through my veins
And blind me in bliss

Get wet for me
Stand in the street and
Reach for me
Throw yourself
Into concrete tide pools
Prove to me the rain is real