Here on my back, fog softening its edges and without
clouds the sky is the color of cold light shining from grey silk lingerie it is
smooth and flat and could fall upon my head at any instant.
Above, I am able to touch the gulls so close and tiny until my mind shifts and
they are high above me again, pushing the sky off my nose.
Here along the shore the rocks are blushed with rose or bridally white and wet
and here is my stone its clear center scissored with milk and dunked from both ends
with soft marmalade. With the sand brushed off it is a little too small it is becoming dry
and dusty already and soon the unlocatable light will stop
shining through it. I am licking it. Just this once will it taste
like a truth. It is unassuming and firm, clean but not pure but not painful
not alive just there, summoning from my mouth its re-resplendence.
The sky is less flat now. I find it hard to notice
the ocean. Now my feet are gripping the diamonds
of fence rungs. Now it is dark and the inside of my house
is glowing like amber through the windows.