Faith Hope & Fiction

I walked in night’s syrup down a Hermit Island road, caught between snoring and 3 A.M. loving,

waiting for the fish to wake. I felt the heat

of stars and sand’s abrasives, the mad interplay

of elements thrusting at moccasins and eyes.

Ahead, the moon pushed light’s broad blade

down through the perfection of trees, a leaf

scattered delight, a late moth struggled toward

the infinities. I drank my beer, remembering

a starfish caught hours before on a burst of rocks,

its five fingers searching, as my senses did,

for momentary salvation. I realized I had no

enemies, I had no hate. I moved out, into, and was

alone, with the grace of stars and the abrasives of sand.