BEACH QUARANTINE 1
the first morning I
can hardly rouse myself but for
a husband’s gentle nudging
this man whose insomnia
of such significant blessing
to our family rhythms
whispers to me with fresh coffee breath:
you said you wanted to go
I did and I do
sliding my arm from under the half roused child
whose face is an unresolved dream
I find clothes in the unfamiliar dark
I find a blanket in the decimated car
a wool hat even
the wind is so cold and sounds
like rain on another planet
The palm trunks do not flinch
at the dawn or the breeze or
my maiden voyage westward
The street is mine for unmasked breathing
There is no dune to climb
No weathered boards form a structure to
encase my transition just
street then sand then sea
I am not alone at dawn
it is bird time
early creatures of habit, of hunger
whose habitats remain the places we vacation
in our own free time and also
destroy in our unfettered me time
pitting fervor to subdue this earth
against frenzy to find our next nest
But the birds do not care this day
their athleticism an act of joy
a satiation of night hunger
their precision dives incalculable
by any algorithm
I want to know the secrets of the sea
but neither the sponge nor the spiral
have a message for me
When I squeeze the sand
it retains shape for a moment before
crumbling in my hand
sand like snowflakes
no particulate uniformity
sand like cellular biology
tiny bodies all making up
the vastness of a beached planet
and my own pre-crumbled body within it
