Bourbon Dark Sea
I ignore the sign
that says the beach closes
at sunset. I sit on a
rock with a half bottle
of ginger ale topped
with bourbon. Evening
mist cut by passing car
lights gives a lambent
glow to a sea rising and
falling in gentle waves.
Tonight is mine. I am
ignoring all signs: no
alcohol, no dogs, no
fires. My shepherd is
shadowed by a small glow
from embers that were
once flames. It feels
good to push against
what is supposed to be.
The tide will rise to cover
the sins of my presence.
After the Fall
A man needs a person.
Once God took a rib
but there are other ways. Why not
beaches, walks, slow talk.
A thief steals a suitcase, leaves
a blue sweater graced by a hole.
There is Cornwall, blue skies,
an old blue sweater against chills.
In November’s waning light
pale sand, white as snow before
it melts into brown earth, rocks.
There are mountains, golden leaves
red leaves. Color is key. Some years
squirrels burying bounty in crowded
city parks, festivals, and celebrations
of nothing needed for souls
to refresh just like lava lamps
with blue flames to clear heads.
It is all good. That’s a lie.
There is pain, serpents of life.
There is a woman, a man, the
sweater in a drawer forever blue.