August

The red moon, ruthless, confident,

mirrored on a rocking sea, sheds light

too bright for secrets. Roar and pull

of breakers fills the night.

The deep, in its old quarrel with

the continent's cliff, meets mute force.

Ghost crabs scurry into dens.

A relentless tongue, unseen, sluices

a trough into compliant sand. I'm into it,

up to thighs in cold brine, then out, gasping,

stepping over broken shells. Stone chips

glitter, disappearing into undertow.