DAY 23 OF EAST COAST TOUR, IN THE SUMMER: 2008
Giants of waves draw accordion shapes for the Milk Conch
In Florida waters, dyed yellow around living sand dollars’ soft spines
Five of us ascend the beach and quickly disperse-
Overhead, a palace of clouds is advancing.
Thigh deep, I am volleying oaths at the sea, shoulders blazing gold.
An estuarine trench of arching fish gathers up periodically,
is disturbed by seabirds tossing urchins, and rests.
It is not until we have recovered the group to our station wagon that someone asks;
“Does a sea-snail have a memory?”
I attest that my foot was punctured by the lateral spines of some common Strombiade,
Who won’t accept my apology, no matter how heartfelt.
We spin a low conversation, the weather occupying long pauses;
Electromagnetic flashes coruscate the windshield.
At the beach, Pelicans form precisely overhead in a white gather against the undulating thunderheads.
All of this is a stamped postcard, unsent.
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