Shore

by John Carbone

Made for the East and the Beach Night Fire. Whiskey for warmth with the good hearted, record-having juveniles. Took a tumble down the dune to get in tune. When the waves crashed, it was more speech than splash. Spending time in different tongues to untie my own. Hard wind, blow out the bramble. Oh my angry Island, help me untangle. I know you’re mad ‘cause they won’t listen. They don’t see where their feet dance. But they’re ticking and that’s a chance. For now, I’ll take some time. You can paint me Mossy Green. Red-Brown with the iron carried from wherever by the Sea. Carved stone and metal. Tight-lipped with their history, saying only, “Here is where I’ve settled.”