In the Margins of a Black Book Abandoned in a Coastal Hotel
.
She steps toward the tideline.
Turns her collar to some remembered wind.
Stares toward the Atlantic
as if to read a sea-worn dream
in the distance that blurs the world
into a ghost ship.
*
White tracery of dawn now.
Gunmetal Sky. A warm rain
sweat down the window.
She rose, pulled on a coat
the dirty pink of Hollywood fog,
walked through the lightless room —
a shadow’s shadow.
The scent of her clouded my bedsheets.
*
A door swings shut
in a vacant stairwell.
Retreating surf sounds like children
breathing in their sleep.
.