Jacob Vincent 

The Shore 

Summer 
Ours for a week, 
the room where waves echo. 
 
Ache of silence relieved, 
as we dangle on the edge of an ocean. 
 
Grains of sand trail after her, 
the scent of damp pines tangled in her hair. 
 
“I have never seen such blue.” 
 
Nestled in her arms, a pur. 
 
A chrysanthemum blazes pink behind her ear. 
 
Winter 
Dead leaves note every step, 
until plucked feathers stir at the door 
with no other sign of the wild cat. 
 
Within, all revealed as hollow 
blown through by the wind 
and I took my place among transparent things 
 
The room is as it has always been, 
paralyzed by the stagnancy of tireless waves.