they stand without speaking
against the pale wall
without moving without asking
for anything

they have known hands
and the weight of the world
they have known the breaking
of frost into water

they do not wait
they do not wonder
they stand where they were left
and that is enough

outside the wind moves
somewhere the earth turns
but here
nothing is missing

Peaks Island, Maine

The sea has no memory,
but it leaves reminders—
bone, gristle, a mouth frozen mid-thought,
waiting for nothing.

Once, this thing had direction,
a current to follow, hunger to heed.
Now it lies where it was left,
a shape reduced to outline.

The sand does what it always does,
takes without effort,
makes room for the next arrival,
the next forgetting.

You stand there, hands in pockets,
as if there’s something to be done.
But the tide will return soon enough,
and take care of it.

New Smyrna Beach, Florida