Her handshake concerned me
from the start,
constricted my fingers
in sandpaper, and questioned
She said I should know two things:
how to make chowder;
how sea-birds die. I said
I’ve watched a pelican die,
late at night,
on all the beaches. She never believed it.
Serpentine necks press the head back-ward
against thick down. The beak
faces the tide.
Tides comes out of and into our poetry;
we’ve seen each others parts.
mistaken in their meaning in that they are interpreted. And the love
will be forgotten
In the logistics of relating. So we aim our beaks to the tide,
to remember what it’s like to soar
over each other