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.