Amid twilight’s slow dance,

along a moment’s periphery,

always some other lurks close,

whispering him toward the rocks:

“Don’t stop. Over here, no here.

Somewhere other than where

you are, someone other

than the person you are.”

As the voices rattle like bones

in a box longing to be heard,

he barely notes the susurrations,

never knowing where he goes.

Thus, the lackadaisical waves

slip him limply past the shore.

(January 16, 2019)