Where evening meets a shell-shocked
lover is a distortion
of light on water. The shell-mottled sidelines

are a construct of winter, contouring a melody
nestled in return.
We hear the clip of persistence,

pearly presence of this gargling world. Gulls plummet
in circles and low clouds swagger in.
I carve the beach to bring you to water,

to forge you a one-winged bird
in shallower pits.
In the low country, winters are not enough.

Heaving seabeds dry to salt.
Slowly you peel the skins off a grapefruit,
fingers clinging to the cottony pith.