• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 08

Wave Syllables

I heard about her
first on the backs of waves,
pluming crests, salt smells,
meaningful undulations.

She whispered to me
across an ocean surface,
suggesting we might take
our swim suits, our useless
useful trappings of daily
worlds, travel away.

This morning I wait for
her on the shore, impatience
punctuated only by the shrill
balking of seagulls.