Coastal Trail
cobble-shore frost,
it nips at at me, forty miles an hour,
awkward stupid animal
who slips on icy boulders
to squelch in smoky seawater.
only a hundred sperm-whale lengths to go.
waves crash on the curse of the crags,
ratcheting up the odds of my death.
i watch the waves turn ocean spray into Lot’s wife,
over and over,
a disassemble of salt and ghost,
over and over,
she vaporizes, leaps, vaporizes, leaps,
this nameless wife,
who deserved a name,
though when i die
my name will mean even less
than it does now,
which, on this coastal trail,
is nothing.
no angel will protect me,
no strings of a parachute
in this donnybrook of hail
if i fall off a boulder, or
it must be. it must!
thousands of poems to write
before i go.
=====================
7/9/24 ... keeping on
7/19/23 ... considerable flow and quality edits
https://encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com/sea+smoke
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