Undertow

Sea drags us out across

roped lanes

a pull and a breath

(invisible sky empty and silent

as faint April grass

a vacancy above our salt-sodden

hair, open place for what

hands can grasp and lose - seaweed

and foam and bits of broken

shell)

We have lost

ourselves

in the palm of this giant

hand. Backlit, we feel

like nothing

but shadows flickering

on shell walls in the sting of an afternoon breeze.

We are waving farewell.

We have carved our wills on the blue-veined backs of our gesturing hands.

We have spoken and lost sight of the shore.

Surely by nightfall we shall be washed in a rain of stars

and our fingers will find filaments red shifted in that screaming light.