Certain Shore

                        This ocean could be me

                        with stones on the edges

                        banging together unheard

                        under the tides, cloud strings sewn

                        together into pages of breath after breath,

                        a loss of air in strange circumstances.

                        It could be hope glued onto felt pieces

                        It could be microsurgery with lasers

                        It could be a baseball game where

                        the runner is tagged at home.

                        Whatever the television says

                        is part of the atmosphere.

                        Whatever it is

                        could be lost or true. 

                        Soon enough leaves

                        fall from the trees.

                        Soon enough religions vote.

                        Soon enough ice cream supplies

                        run low due to the lightning strike.

                        A sailboat would be nice right now,

                        or a playground with wings

                        or a more bucolic life.

                        Just when I thought

                        I was closing in

                        the gulls lift off

                        one by one

                        leaving me here with

                        everything to begin