skipping south

drumming

over bridges


this side

of brooklyn


what’s left of the tin fleet

leans into paperbark


at this hour

our waves protected


successive coves

laid open like geodes


and a tide-line measured

i imagine in divisions


of soft/hard sand

parcels of damp weed


exit the F3 for the M2, 7

attract electronic toll


industrial has nothing

to do with making it


even with the nav-man

he was hopeless with directions


black slashes

in the trees


do i take the call

while at the wheel?


"keep an eye out

for the turn off


if you get to ulladulla

you’ve gone too far