On this windswept shore,
the beach of lost relics—
scattered with ropes of kelp,
green sea glass and black cinders,
one wet dog following
a barefoot toddler.
The sea tries all its usual tricks—
swells that shift green in the sunlight,
quicksilver tongues foaming at the shore,
even a retreat to improbable depths,
but it’s too cold to go in.
In a hollow of sand
I find a seagull, chest ripped open
as if the burden of a heart
was too great.
The borders between us
are less marked than these,
shifting perilously underfoot,
no watcher in the rusted lighthouse
to warn me
of your arrival.
Faith Allington is a writer, gardener and lover of mystery parties. Her work is forthcoming or has previously appeared in various literary journals, including The Fourth River Tributaries, Honeyguide Literary Magazine, Crow & Cross Keys, and The Hog Literary Magazine.