Ignoring the cool strummer,
tickle the foamy ridge
until the sun bleeds into water
-like the first days.
Don’t hesitate to open your eyes
during heavy breeding-
it’s the nature of the beak
to want to peer inside a fish
for all the answers of the ocean.
Inside… love, little chicks, love,
like the sandy floor that moves beneath,
like the spotted flickers of night
like a summer song
like a full belly
like bodies’ feathered rest.
Come closer to the edge,
where wandering squawks
sound like an aural manna.