Gray Area

Wet cool cement in the littoral zone

holds our signature like a first impression.

Tracks circle tracks; they become lost in a barefoot frenzy.

The February tide paints over the sand

wide cold brush-strokes

and the tracks run away

erased again.

The tracks run away

towards the glacial rocks settled

at the bottom of a steep bluff.

At the bottom of the bluff,

a heavy mist meets our feet.

The fog covers all imperfections

and allows the water to run clear

over our sandy feet.

It's time for a clean slate.