longshore drift there are children picking through our wreckage shattered bottle broken stone which glow green/blue in cool cupped hands light haunting at their faces home: a memory if ever that far fattened crows fall feast upon each dream we never dreamt your beach where father kept his severed finger ever pointing out the wave that cave where once she fell face first her body making whole a broken part of timeless coast measured out in bloodless lips for tiny kisses crisp pressed dress washing through an endless tide pattern part of longshore drift cleft holes in which young hermits hide J. x