sunday evening

under a shy sun, i stand
where two waves cross returning paths

i toss and -lip-between-teeth- watch
a hollowed coconut evade the resulting whirlpool

my bauble returns untouched
but for a lick of foam
and i think
of the frothy chaos that follows a human equivalent


i have yet
to be swept
off of figurative feet
but will happily settle for the pull of the surf -
is-to-sand as
magician-
is-to-tablecloth,

my toes steady glassware, patient
as pelicans resting beyond the breakers