soft latch
i tell the tide my whole story.
eyes half-glassed, the ocean up to my
feet, shins, thighs-- shin and feet again.
i want to confess things that i know i am still afraid of
so if i had to meet her again, for the last time,
there wouldn't be much to say at all.
i know that words will bubble up my throat,
a choked sob, and
it will die down again.
how do i ruin a broken love?
if i met her again, she would forgive me.
i would forgive her; both of us forgive with regret.
our love remains at low tide, always
the moon will pull at our words, they knock but do not tumble.
in silence, we turn and go our separate ways.
sand oak
warm junco