St. Augustine at Night

At the heart of a citythat has learned to wear its ruinson purpose, a drawbridge grants passageto shapes intent on anchor or retreat.An endangered right whale moans andthumps and cries in this oceanbetween us, announcing a desireto not be alone, no—to be with another of its kind.

I think of a friend who writes threelove poems a day and never edits, no—never apologizes for the wanting.I feel a loss on the way.You’ll either stop it or deliver it.Time will be markedand I’ll learn to say that was beforeas a way of explaining whyI am now different.

The determined red lights flashand once more arms outstretchtoward the halved moon.The water no longer vibrates with need.It is still and silent and I say into it pleasedon’t go. Stay.