Maybe you are with my mother, or yours,
Able to look down at the round
Umbrellas lined up on Hollywood Beach
Remembering the drum circle, the way the full moon
Embroidered the ocean. Is it day or
Evening where you are? Do you care anymore to
Negotiate time, its nonlinear

Sequencing like a collage? Here on
Earth it’s even more dire than when you left us in
August, when I engraved your name in the sand. A new war
Turns us terrible. It’s the last day of the year
Over here, 12/31/23. Kelsey tells me it’s 1-2-3-1-2-3.
New Year’s Eve, the ocean washing away your name.