Rachel White

LITTORAL

cliff pigeons coo ink dots stipple a crab claw

the pale morning moon a broken sign post

pointed grasses a lone gull ankle deep in water

sand puddles into aqueous shapes tidal sculptures

the gulf’s pulse little more than a ripple shells lie

belly up show their glazed violet bowls

my toes sift stones extract a flat one the perfection

of symmetry in a crumpled palm the pebble stutters

on the sea’s unfurled skin then sinks

when I go I want my ashes scattered here

where nothing needs saying only the sky’s reflection

and the solitude of holding my own hand