Poems but if I knew the answer for where on this tiny orb we are meant to find constancy of grace neverending, I’d go off and sing, self-satisfied. perimeter blues squint-wishing a mist to rise from the ether of beach resorts deadened sand returning its infinite collar bark lying still for a hundred years children led back to the bay where once it spit away ownership, when most knew the names for a shore’s domed soul in dialect my god you’re right the sea, all land adjacent, godspirit cordoned from me sit here while toes feel an ocean goddess and she, nyi roro kidul, quietly ascertains that security will be coming for us shortly

31 The Poetry Review