Fly away strands of a carp moon, looked for in milk pools, lost as lettuce, sandwiched between grey bread and thick-spun sun, plastic sheet poked through and dotted with strawberries not ready to pick, an underworld as white as the lanes we swam in the dark, in the nude.
The olive gray of your bikini a drab and determined crush, a smile that takes in others with uncertainty, that swims in heavy contrast to the flash and turn as a soldier on kissed marble gravel exposing their position with a footstep’s crunch.
How we yearn for sand beneath the toes, absolution found in bluish shadow, the brush away of an algae wash.