There is Rapture in the Lonely Shore

Nova Scotia

INCANTATION Shinji Moon 

I press — my hand — into — the earth — to worm, — ants, — wet, — wood. — In my head — I say “I want to leave,” — but I know — that you — can’t hear. We’ve loved — so long, my boy. How could I — how could you — go? I’ve forgotten — where I put — my things. This land — built on our — trunks. This land — built out — to leave. My knees — replaced — with sil — ver buckles — clamped tight and melted shut. My hands — these hands my hands — these hands — milled down — straight down — to flour. To soft — and yellow — flour. 

                                                 [”Can you
                                                        teach me about the birds?”]

                                     [”There are blues, humming, songs, then you.”]

I have forgotten — so much — my mouth. How it moves, how it’s moved — without — your tongue. In the morning — the earth — is mist. River — bequeaths — the sky — its rain. My hair — tied back — into a knot. From my nails — I clean — the river — beds. Inside — i take — my feet. Sheets suss — uh-russ — as I climb in — to you, to you, to you, to you. Salt — licked, and — wet. A swarm — of bees — in-the-back — of-my-throat. Their bodies — aligned — along — my tongue — to strike, when —  your hand  — emerges — over — mine. When — little pearl — of spit — dips — from your mouth. — and washes — the earth — from — me clean. 

"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea."

-Isak Dinesen