slowskulled               & drowsy,

this epitaph’s            the one that’s carved

over                 & over again :

here a blowsy            mallet & chisel

to chisel

                          on the rock this tide’s

overswept                   in looking

too close         for tidings for          how to remain

unwaving                     unwavering

the shore                                  it’s always

                                                    the depths

itself                 tense & feathering &

not about itself                      & counting

the time           it takes to linger

where it’s not

wanted                          here waking it’s

the same          rock

that’s waiting               to be

                            to have           one more

drink to quench

                                          this ebony                shore —

fight :

                                          tide                             throat

             tide

                              tide

                                                       throat

Abi Pollokoff is our Poet in Residence for February.

Previously: To live in ignorance is exactly what.