[photo Chris Parks]

Full moon, mackerel clouds

gilded halo over water:

sea robed in liquid silver

lapping sugar sand

like a cat sipping cream

from an endless source.

Beach abandoned

no burdensome bodies

to protrude

if I was up there

on lunar dust I’d see

this

blue heaven of a planet

spinning sublime through

utter emptiness, miracle orb

in

dark interstellar vacuum.

Here, sea sand, shush

shush shucking of the tide

continue, perfect each night

without me.