Radio Silence

Now

I lay on the wet sand all my day
Watching empty bottles wash in,
Watching the surf take them away.
Waiting, watching the wheeling gulls
Cracking my seeds, spitting the hulls.

I draw your name in the cool, wet sand.
I form the letters with an interested finger,
I wipe it clear with less sensitive hands.
My skin stays away from the seagull shit
And even this beautiful world is full of it.


Later

The sand and my face are lightly mottled.
The sky has been busy blocking the light,
Clouds that ride upright like your bottles.
The gulls, without me, move upcoast.
It's their hungry crying I miss the most.