on a crescent beach, its cream
shallows in the too-early
morning, chasing after a silver flash
I call fish,
or walking the black bridge,
frosted with salt—a turn, a smile,
the scratching spray, but
float up to the peak
of the green night, the band
noise, looking down on the bay
and it’s circlet of hotel lights—
there, the sea unhinges her jaw
