Walking the Boards

We speak in waves
over particles of breath,
briny breathing,
this boardwalk holds up
more than it will tell.

It’s the simple words
in solid greens, gray blues,
the color of sand after it rains,
it’s these that endure
in the moon’s wake.  Without

a single word, we still could
talk as we walk,
tide coming in,
using the language
hidden in the dunes.

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Sagittarius

A lull toward late
fall, messages arrive
scrambled. Those born
on the light shrinking side

of winter solstice
carry an extra
burden. We must generate
an expanding light

from within. And it just might
illuminate the shoreline
for those of us now walking
the boards in the afterlife.