[1] Red tide, tonight, brings with it rumors of water to the shore of this hotel bed.

Sea swells fill for absent conversations through this night. And I wonder whether words I write on them will reach her?

[2] Even though I might sleep tonight inside broken shells of my dreams, there is this endless thirst for Adrienne's liquid hands.

What did I, a stone face, know of heartbreak, until she put her head against my chest and wept farewell?

[3] Harvest moon tracks across the waves. Does it remember other vanished seas, I wonder, when it crosses Saharas?

And will I remember how it felt to beathe her air if I wake from under this blanket of covering tides?

Harverst Moon, Ponte Vedra, Florida