we hold until I am exhausted
he is a trickling thing of sand
a scintilla that drains back into the beach
a shock of trees
released by strong winds
he is a fish, a slither
an eel that flits away
then has me pinned
he is all around me
he clenches, shoves my face
towards his
buried down there
beneath our grinding feet
iron-eyed our faces
stare it out underground
through lock and tremor
we are two seismic prayers
to a god divided
he is a lion he is my mother he is the flicker of songbirds falling
as black snow in early evening my fingers are wings are poems
within his smoke we fold back to embrace
count five sudden things of magic
stamp and hold tight
lion mother phantom
my lost brother
whistles hard in the waves
old father in the fallen leaves offshore
we walk into the sea
each carrying the other
light as children who cannot return
rise only as the tide
sends up her drowned lanterns
each with his heart of red sand
catching, holding
our breath beyond reach
.
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