Surfers trace the long line of a triangle in loose threads
Like pencil marks, a seagull’s eye
Black catching light
The boardwalk neon
I had a vision and it died no need to tell a soul

Photos in magazines where the ocean was brighter than
In reality, four small crabs on a bench
Tonight will they break the tiny legs
And feast will the boy recall forever the warm light and the table full

Men silent as birds at the urinals unreadable faces death in traces endless meals
Of bright colors, yellow plantain, red cabbage, green avocado
Limes bursting on your fingers

The mirror’s not my friend, never has been
The sand stays in my toes, I hate this body but I love you so
I have to change my life or be forever washed away