except for the syncopated squawking
of gulls and the rhythmic ebb and flow
of waves, the beach is quiet now.
this week has been.
who the hell is in Manchester?
and is that New Hampshire?
the map behind my eyes doesn't zoom,
while I search for lost things.
collect my ventures,
find only time travel and a dead shark.
in the distance, I see dusk, a dock and a dog,
and I hope someone sees me
from a different distance.