The Beach House
       

There was a moon
            that could be switched
                      on and off like a bulb.
            Its broken cord trailed
listlessly over the surf.
            And a thermostat-sun
                      that could be spun forward
            and backward to adjust
the amount of heat,
            the level of light—
                      Salt-soft boards
            warmed to the exact
temperature of our bodies.
            The precise gray of terns.
                      Bleach-threaded quilts
            against skin. And the waves
taking it all back, bit by bit,
            as we knew they would.
                      Even the hollows
            our feet had shaped.
Even our careful names—
            There was the sudden sweep
                      of night over everything,
            then a new, precarious
arrangement of stars that
            seemed they might drop
                      any moment into our empty
            hands, or rise like fish
from the plankton-numinous
            throb of surf. There was
                      the moment it seemed
            we might have caught them—

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Copyright © 2012 Leslie Adams All rights reserved
from West Branch
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission