Magpies strut and swagger, twig thin
tracks scratched across the beach.
I let the wind tangle my hair, lick my skin
with salt. A gecko, the length of my pinky
waits for me to move, but I am as hungry
for the sun on cool hide as he is.
Palm trees sway, indifferent to the distant
threat of hurricanes. I could drown
in the endless blue, slip inside the narrow gap--
that sharp edge where sky meets sea,
the curved line from a compass point, center
stabbed through my core. A storm
could swallow this place whole, spit
it out along some other, unsuspecting
shore. Maybe if I set down mangrove roots,
I could learn how not to fight tides, remember
how the full moon is only temporary.
ljcohen, April 2011
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