The Sea


There are no gods behind those hills
The sea does what it does
By the moon's ebbs and pulls
It is fruitless to want
Nothing returns to regret

A laurel grows
In the cracked cement
Beneath the faucet
Jutting from the wall outside
Leaking in the hot white sun

The island is
Not an island
Across from the cove
The rising rocks
Are all there is
Together
Facing each other they
Make a pathway of the sea