Crests blow foam spouts that crash against
rock and asphalt. The sea yields
its salt bones as a wind or mist or
wraith. My windshield grays shades
of phantasm. You tumble in whale fall
as calcium stone. Beached, deadened
coral clouds the sand in whites and bleach.
On the stretch of shore, rose petals dry
at noon, perfume rising as tiny
curls of grave nostalgia: palmfuls
of whispered vespers cast to salt.
So far from you, my petals
parch like this body’s du’a.