SEAWEED POETICS

We’re shipwrecks, I know, having lived this long.
Yet come with me down the rounded road 
sun rising behind us throwing our shadows 
like useful fishing nets ahead on the road 

ahead, ready for blue shiny mussels blurred
by water and sand, separated sharply
uncarried and cruel. A teaching not to be
displaced or replaced. Footprints hurt.   

Our shadows ahead like flamboyant nets
ready for harvest, spoil, theft. Ready for
four names of the common seaweed
wreck like us channeled, serrated, knotted

and in tight spirals. Just remember,
what they say, old people, about eyes,
about amber eyes, it’s not true. You don’t
find amber on the beach unless it’s given.

PUBLISHED IN PERCEPTIONS, 2026