from “outgoing tide—”

it has the depth of human error

I say this to myself about my face

 

& it’s true—low & intense first

winter light                 frost

 

softened sky colors & your deep ear

the oars glitter         the water spires

 

high tide made a small

margin              a salt whisker late

 

autumnal excess or clutter under

foot      the salt dark comes late north


*
 

it has the depth of human error

manic pixie soccer mom

 

in the bleak midwinter—

hard wrackline of a year’s ebb

 

the tide inevitable & circumflex

a skiff of snow in the new week

 

the wave closes over

your point of entry

 

the ten a.m. bells ring six

minutes late—very gently struck—


*
 

it has the depth of human error

lowtide shipwreck greenribs

 

every dog likes dead things

that’s how you learn the notes on a treble clef

 

at five p.m. on the last day in ordinary tide

wind motion visible in sea smoke

 

a tidal island has

atlantic grammar

 

I obliterate myself with small tasks

now that I have been inland a while