When storms scattered,
they gathered lobsters – jagged, indolent beings –
dragged corrugated tubs along
the weed-striped beach – poor folk food for bologna logs – familiar tale.
I love their story like a fable
you might’ve read – messy, periwinkle pergolas
wail for the ocean – azure and cream,
wishing time undone –
instead, they watch the sky.
Carolers, anxious to get back home
Thickening Winter’s lids
drop sleepy, crystal tears
on the rugosas-
elegant, bowing, bending,
cool like Christmas mint sticks,
with given-out voices,
anxious to get back home.
Seeing the new year in
As we recover from the winds
late Christmas night,
another beetle-browed front
directly in our path
bares it’s ragged teeth – it’s a chancy thing,
as we scuttle to the hall to raise glasses,
to see the new year in.