the first shore I met:
white as a fingernail,
hot as a heartbeat.
my storm-shattered sail,

salt-stained, hung
from the broken mast
like a tear straining
against an eyelash.

the moon riding
a cerulean sky sparring
with a sea dark enough
to swallow sunlight –

everything calm now:
clouds gone, wind
silent; and the cool,
glassy water slipping

across my empty,
open palm.