Heartless Waking

by Suzann Kole

A spittle of low tide
sticks rough to a beard of rock-
my body wrapped around
the new cold of morning
pulls in breath
of resignation
as crows blacken
the yellow air and shoulders
of turf pulse hard
bargains through a stiffened,
somber wind. These days,
terraced like fins,
form a fragile shielding--
transparent around
our lithe, aqueous bodies
now occluded within
the geometric hours when
just last night, moon
flattened its cheek
against the lawn
in a bleach of muslin--
iridescent with dew;
while trees dissolved, then
withdrew into a thirsting
dark, before dawn's
heartless waking.