I put my feet in the ocean
for the first time this year,
so cold my brain takes a moment to decide
whether to categorize it as cold
or a knife wound.
The waves are gentle,
little licks,
and I wish what I always wish
when I stand on the hem of the sea
that I could know the story of each wave
the thrashing
the sharks
the freighters
dark and furtive
like towering ghosts.
These waves are like us
rendered frail in our old age,
who would guess that quiet wisp in the chair
once had thunderous sex
and made whole audiences weak
with his charm.