Alastu at Day's End

The blustery winds
of ocean seeds
fill the dust with scents
of life, which is
the smell of death
is all

The sun presides as the leaves
revive their restless tread
like flags, like sails;
the voyages have come to us,
they end as salt
is all

What calls us from our places,
locked in dull remembrance,
to deviate on rougher tides
as everything we know
breaks
into fragments
is all

The spray foam cracking
on your lips
as ropes slip through your
calloused fingers
to be like wings
that do not need
to arrive
just to stay aloft, alive
in wet, endless currents
is all

Each day wakes
to another place
calm or storm
they'll never say
move or drown
is all

The creaking wheels
of distant docks
await your feet
to carry you to dirt
a smaller grave
is all