Voices of Their Own

I was told sea stars fell in love with humans,
threw off murex coverlets,
dove into icy oceans,
downward drifting angels.

They wait for me.

Blinded, they learned to sashay
across the outwash dunes,
beyond the drowned drumlin.
To what begs beneath;
what grows bayberry and cocklebur.

I am hoping to find a way to continue breathing,
a reason to come up for air.

At five, when the moon is a trespasser
and I am alone,the tide pulling, pushing.
Constellations arise from the sand,
hands raised and set to stone.
They trill in the old tongue
for the open violet sky
in voices of their own.