Field, Shore

It shows us its backside
electrifies the hills
leading to nothing.

How does the world reflect us?

Rippling paper-thin
layer over layer. Coats
sand a shade darker, my shoes
a repository
for water’s memory.

Toppled docks
swept into the coast,
moss, still life
seaweed.

Territory spined
acidic foliage
pooling ultramarine.

Gray of sky and gray
of ocean’s bay.

The weight of my head
on his shoulder is enough.