here at sunset
there are two options: pull or fall back and wait.

the painters collapse their easels. the ropes of the
boat come home.

all will be revealed
but just who will be there to see?

a fated return to a theater
of empty feet
still returns;

a grateful dagger
plunged into the sea
still burns

it’s a small world,
so travel light

the swelter is a curtain you move back,
here

leave no trace. do not
walk on the historical mounds.
fish quietly
no artifact hunting

pass through
know you are passing through

ten minutes of measuring the shore
certifies

i feel the way the wind looks at me
but never was pushed one way
or the other