I drift the lunar shorelines,
Pick up perfect stones,
Rolled smooth,
Ova and seed,
The shape my fingers make
When I hold a hard peach.
Each is a center,
Eccentric,
An unborn mountain.
I’ve tried to take some
For myself,
Knelt,
Lifted them from beaches,
Dried at low tide,
Held blood-warm
Until I could feel them pulse
In my fist.
My own doomed heart.
The moon has changed,
Wanes,
Sea pulled away from me,
Shunning my grasp.
I’m left humbled,
Search the cobble verge
For one more word.
I’ve thrown them as far as I could,
Given them back to the water.
This is all we can do
With love we can’t keep.