December 28th

December 28th 

Glazed on a northern wintered beach.

The shoelace kelp tethering her boots.

Where are the tide times for setting sons?

A childhood once bouyant in advent.

Her blousy years hang wild on the horizon —

pending against traded winds. Maybe a prayer

to the long dead stars? The old gods that salt

spindrift tears dripping from this earth’s blue.