page one hundred ninety-four

He found her on the beach,
bright and singular, surrounded by sea.
And, at first glance, pulled off his shoes
ready to wade to her across the cold waves.

He must have found her perfect
those first hours of watching:
her shirt so red, lonely amongst the ocean blues,
her face turned away like a mystery.

He would climb into her sky and repair the moon
that fluttered on its long string from the inky clouds
like an incoherent promise, waiting,
he thought, for another half a ring.

He’d stumbled upon her solitary story at the end
and thought to love her, without knowing
the sentences of the gods that came before,
as beautiful as imagination.