I wanted to look at the steely face of the Atlantic.
The air felt like sand in the sun’s static
light. The wind kept gusting
the hand I use to drive my chair
off to the side
like a kite.
I had to be helped up the ramp, where
pelicans swooped past heads
and landed on whitecap waves with ease.
I could say I was mesmerized.
I could say I was jealous.
The shore seemed to stretch into the future
where the horizon appeared
like a granite countertop, and I thought:
maybe a flat world would be better.
There is security in knowing where the edge of the world waits,
where perched on a rail, a raven sits
slanted, feathers ruffled.