Gold chops through
lavender froth,
spilling down
worn mountain tops.
Geese flap by
in their angled flocks
across the valley
glazed with frost.
I stand,
listening
to bird call
and wind,
taking it in,
finally
breathing.
When abrasively,
my pocket dings.
I take out my phone
and find
photo after photo of
a gold-diced beach
sent by my mother,
an early waker
like me.
Choppy waves
and thunder peaks
creep on her horizon.
Sunbeams soak
wave-glazed sands
as the moon yanks
salty tide in.
Gulls and Pipers
pepper dunes,
free of form,
not heading for
anywhere else
anytime soon.
States stretch
between the
two of us,
but despite the
winding distance,
we both rose
to witness—
you,
like the moon.
my blood,
like the sea,
pulled from
my sheets by
genetic
gravity.
pm poetry 