January Shoreline

The sea falls forward then turns back and back.

The sand it strikes is white as if wintered.

We both are bleached by winter’s sun, withered

as if it’s an inner water we lack.

I need to drink you in—your breasts, that act.

You were a good taste as I remember.

The sea falls forward then turns back and back.

The sand it strikes is white as if wintered.

The gulls see the gleam of a fish, attack.

I’m supposed to speak here of the weather.

But I think of you, a door I entered,

a room I live in. What I am reacts.

The sea falls forward then turns back and back.