two gulls squawk and defecate

on the head of a penguin statue.

here in the state’s northwest it

is just an idle gesture like tide

pounding marbles on beach walls.

the bay is a bad act of geometry. 
we can only cartwheel when the

tide is out two times daily lunar

calculations on flat mud sand.

a thousand shells spiralling despite

a lack of golden principle. one greedy

tern empties the cup of a whelk. 
the bus glides through twice a day.

baristas stare out to horizons whilst

frothing hearts on flat whites.

the wind smashed boat shed

has become a kind of rhomboid

minus its sharply accurate degrees.
on the gradient someone points

a telescope to far ambitions.

infinity in figure of eight circles

plays light tricks on the headland

and it could just be illusion but it

could relatively be a ray theory.
a couple seeking clear parameters

in the angler’s cove overestimate

some blue blasted expressive need.

on the jetty flathead gape in ab

sense of sea. bucket list adding and

subtracting something more solid.
perhaps there are solutions but

the sun is incandescent white today

the sky an ivory white, the sails

hypotenuse against white flotillas,

the hulls riding perturbations that

propagate through waves of water.