pick piles
crabmeat and fish from spines
no more whisky
no more wives
here in the crash and echo
of the Indian cave
near marsh, near tip
of south chessenessex
sometimes they behave so strangely
and strange
do i find tongue and words
to express the bare love
my heart can afford.
do i dare
venture beyond campfire
and sure food,
mussels, onion reed, sweet
with mud, turtle soup
in a coffee can tossed
overboard
to all who have lost
i hold the edge of america
between my fingers
i will hold on for all of us
