Old furniture made from sea grasses bent, shellacked.

Yellowpoint. Early tea. How morning wipes stars from a table,

slides us a plate with an egg. Upcoast

bears turn boulders on beaches, decipher and eat

the tide’s arrangements. Stillness is a word

for continuing to exist. For sea lettuce waving

its tarpaulin over a crab. The ability

to carry our freight of flesh

down one trail or another.