Sea Glass

A lifetime of salt far beyond my mouth
and a heavy fog on the coast no boat can navigate,

as if the interior obstacles were not enough—
an old pocket of smoke trapped in a lung,

a molecule of gin lingering in the hand
that turns the ignition—lies, hunger, fear.

Do I expect too much? I live crushed
beneath the vision of a city dripping with gold,

all my life in the light of heaven
yet retaining nothing of the glow—

I coddle each moment the weight lifts
and my body sighs into belief.

I hold the memories like shards of glass
made smooth by the pattern repeating

through centuries, in the cadence of tides:
first the power, then relief. The wave’s retreat.

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