along the banks of the hudson river

she is looking for
the moon but only ever
finds its reflection

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sea glass 2

i wandered the shore-
line of your mouth
with my hands full of sea glass,
lipped bottles that had touched other lips,
pieces of wrist-wrung melted sand
that had been held in other palms.
the sand had scrubbed me raw
till i turned cloudy and smooth, but
fingerprints are more than just ridges left
on my skin, and somewhere in the folds
are dreams mistaken for memories.
i dream my memories but never remember my dreams.
i feel you as a single grain of sand in my mouth,
but my words are not pearls,
and nobody truly wants bottles
that have already been broken.

still, all water leads to the sea

flooding up to my forehead
where my third eye cries
the deluge of desire
the silt of stillness
in a place where the sun
hazes over and hides
pain pills, pain pulls
i am a swamp that swallows
memory that means nothing–
no, something–
no, everything.
give me meaning that matters
the gift of guilt
do you construe my confusion
as anything other than
what is already inside me?