The week that I arrived there was an outbreak, which put us all on edge, and I woke up with jagged breath at each night’s middle, wailing to my metal box that pinged my wails across the ocean.
it runs, rabbit, static to / a river in more than just bend or break / a stake left grounded; static, again, / station to station and you’ve left to see….
At the lowest of tides / we go walking / through the low tide / mansions, surfaced, / stairways roughed with / salt, barnacles, // the banisters salt-cured / white.