My how the world sways in the breeze.
This is postcard country, and I’m blind
As a beach ball. I’ve come all this way
With a handful of sand, please accept
It as diminishing payment – it is disappearing
As you are, friend with no face. Thanks for letting
Me shack up with your mother and father,
Whose bed was sagging like a hammock.
Pipers at the gates of the sleeping porch
Poop out the last white of the sunset,
And I am nesting right here with my
Bluebottle hat and my jellyfish boots.
One must settle in before high tide.
I am immune to everything, my dear,
Except the whistling of a dredger,
And I am sucked from such a happy
Home and deposited elsewhere,
A sliver dollar in my seaweed satchel.
Still, the world is beautiful and warm
When we’ve learned to speak its language.
My postcard addressed to anonymous
Is full of partial stops that look like sea grass.