a smooth supple spine that stretches
suspends the organs tethered to a sun
it hoists up not ramrod straight but waves
crashes on the sand and spreads grains
sand blasting pocks in a sea wall against
a stalk that rustles cattails in the breeze
scattered down with each gust of gale
achenes wafting across estuary beds
the teeth of the bay plucked out by
cat’s paws rippling on a portside tide
sailboats tack seaward to the isles
cutting open onshore wind and spray
and all the while the ceaseless current
beats back the gunwales of the hapless
pleasure cruisers afloat for sunset views:
what’s the celestial flood know of weather?