August Poem

On this early raft of light and time

we run together, the seaweed maidens and I

stretching and falling back on the bed of the sea

lighted by a curdling sky

Morning gathers, takes her shape

the ink smudges on the page

and we, the watchers, the floaters

make a snapshot of these several moments

when we were alive

when something that we would not shift

or alter

created us.