Estelle Villas
A tide too full for sound and foam
shake Louie taut as a wind-snapped sheet.
Just another sea nymph vying for your attention.
There’s light.
How is that you have become holy to me?
Do not forget me murmurs something
nibbled by fish under the sea.
After our afternoon sun sets,
we are in tune with the cosmos’s
relentless melt.
There’s light.
Now that time is insubstantial,
I wonder how it is
that you are allotted me,
that you give yourself
to the light that’s left
with more reserve
for a better tomorrow.
You shoulder the sun rise.
You hold it up
against the oily shore line
a while longer.
There’s light.
Look! – it is not fleeting.
Such a moment settles.
