Mucky hands unearth treasures
stuck, we pluck the ones too heavy
to recede—
amber pounded matte, cloudy
etched headstones, foamy green
skeletons ground smooth. Pleasures
lobbed from a party boat, or rage
splintered into rocks. An octopus
of loose ends, lulled chalky
by brine and tide, time-
pried palms, licked closed
by urges of lapping
cold tongues. Our toes
rake return addresses, dashed
litanies wake churns to hush. Returned
pieces of ourselves, scooped up
debris of perfect lives
never lived. We guard
our ashes, laced into waves
like threaded fingers of newlyweds.

Andrea Krause (she/her) lives in Portland, Oregon. Her work is forthcoming in Moist Poetry Journal. She introverts inconspicuously on Twitter at @PNWPoetryFog.

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