By Sarah Leidhold


From the shorelines
where gravity holds
you like a dainty anklet
dangling with alabaster
albatross, watch:

as I recede
into the velvet
-lined shell
of a spiraling

I’m not coming
out till you come
out here and get me.

In the meantime,
I’ll sip each message
from the bottles
that can’t quite
skip across
the choppy
always hurrying
home like
trying to squeeze
back inside my

With pointer out-
I count the knots
that separate
our closest ties.
Too few fingers.

The one you made
soft around my wrist
is slipping now,
like veins shed,
blurring in blue
as they flutter
to the floor.

Like shorelines
gone map-conscious;
who leave the faithful
ocean to taste the world
and find only a dizzied moon
swooning greyly
in that same sky.


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