There is the
new
clean air
the smell of
dark earth
cold,
against my skin
rocks by the rusted rail ties
waiting
I feel, as the
waves
come
between faint
fishing line,
plastic crates
a
dock belonging
to
no one-
the
words we are not saying
against my ribs
a pattern in sand, broken
footprints, one white
winter leaf
before my
heart.