Northward, a different land, a sea-mirrored twin.
Dreams of triumph roil these waters a thousand years
after our hero first breathed life into shells:
iridescent white-pink conches, winking slyly,
reborn bones of a foe once buried.
we shake rain dew off clear umbrellas, summer-drenched,
and climbed atop a ragged-teeth boulder, like a hero once had.
later, i thought it must be here, the coast of death, that the dog’s tongue was stained.
a rock snail gave its life to the discovery of purple. and so our hero bends a knee,
his fingers dyed a bruised berry, while behind him a column of stone rises
from the undulating coastline, a perpetual flame dancing in its belly.
Q
Q 
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