the most westwardly point of the 1.
tucked down between large timber fingers, drifted and tumbled.
left for another high tide
crossed like an otto dix.
my body finds the curves of a weathered boulder and i sit hidden from the passers on the ogden breakwater.
port side, seasick. shore leave. leave shore, clouds sit low on a calm strait.
mountains peaked with snow boast toward a strewn layer of dense smokey blues.
sailboats troll past, empty masted.
gulls cry though the brisk setting.
my stomach clenches and i close my watery eyes.
pebbles of sea glass roll around in my back pocket.