The ocean is strange from this direction,
sharp stoned and bottle green.
Waves wear down the rusty cliffs
and spill out over the coarse sand.
You are on the other side,
your mouth a thin horizon of doubt.

At night the hills lean
into the cold sky,
the pier shifts and moans
as I make my way
to its farthest point.
Above, the moon rises
and stars emerge, dozens at a time.
Across the water,
your tide pulls me home.

Published in Red River Review