From
Greenlake to Sandpoint (1990)

 

My feet trace

            the hill

                        once

                                    washed by

                        waves.

 

            Up and down,

Pulling in,

                                                pushing
out.

 

Salt water

                        rippling

                                                rushing

            rubbing the rocks to

 

Sand.

                                                My
own sour tears

                                                Polish
me smooth.

 

                                                No
edges to grip.

 

                                                The
finest sandpaper:

 

 

                        Pain