Consider how the Ocean deposits
waste on the shores, sargassum
& broken glass & brown sand,
a brackish wrack line, like malady,
eternal attempt at climate restitution;
consider how brave the waves, how
they snarl & wail under the moon
& shake off the remains of oily wrecks,
filaments of ruin, of how many, so many,
thousand-billion destinies.
As for April and her yellow poncho,
she slept in a canopy bed beneath tall
steel shadows with mirrors for walls
while her mother wrote obituaries,
disappointment held like life to a shell.
