Beachcombing

There in the seance 
of pewter dark
and falling afternoon
I ran from the rain child’s father 
snail shells eye empty
seismic, abrading, polished sutures grey
skulls in catacombs
tumbling, unmade 
with that peculiar, watchful nonchalance
of sacrifice gone too far into neglect
the gods respond
with neither grace nor storms 
but the dinosaur fragments
of fossil nacre, edges inviting
pressure against, the too soft mollusc
silent, salt and piercing
pedestal like a kiss
lightning fragile (immediacy erased)
in the afterimage inverse
of the slowly leeching beachcomber’s
lope long passing steps

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