I used to be jealous of the rising tide, for it could never leaveJust lap at jagged teeth and spray its foam upon your sleeveMy blindness felt the seagulls flee, their mocking heard no moreYet still the tide, it rose in time, to crash on rocky shoresI know why the kestrel races, on the hunt for freckled facesIn the beaches, ports, and harbors, raving for its saving gracesIn the alleyways, for forty days, I heard them cawIn the burning trees, I heard their pleas, their throats so rawI swore th...
