the tide rises, the tide falls | an oceanic literary magazine

She was still beautiful, it was only that
up close people look less like mirror...

before i drown,
let me swim...

His hands smell of anemone and mushrooms
on a spring morning...

the tide washed you in today
and I picked you up from still wet sand...

There is no visible horizon,
only sky and hinted at sea...

Arrived here without compass,
having tumbled, pilotless, along...

I float facing the same direction as the dying sun. It sinks
at approximately 8:22 p.m., bleeding itself out over the...

The ocean itself is a siren. I’ve been creeping closer
for years. Rooted in the black prairie earth...

I use pastels. Blues, smeared
with grey, white, some amethyst...

Weary and on a fishermen’s boat, cap pulled down over eyes. Do you remember when we...

Under the bridge are the Welsh Grounds,
shadows below the surface...

To and from a river: a stone,
agate; a starving winter sky...