South York

Carnegie Beach

You've swapped your violin

For several maternal cousins and exchanged Bach

For Poseidon. You are with beer bottle xylophonists

(family). The bonfire is a collection of smudges

Plastered against driftwood - someone's got

My watch, you murmur. Someone has pressed

The hands together, someone is praying for more time.

You've melted into the freezing sand, face up:

Look, constellations! Look, Big Dipper, look, Apollo,

Look

I've been stabbed, you whisper.

Everyone

Has trudged back in. The fire is gone. The tide is way out.

The rain slips between the fingers of the clouds.

You're catching the droplets,

Arms outstretched, beaming mouth wide,

twin moons for eyes, the tide whispering symphonies

forty feet beneath your feet.