Nothing startled me awake tonight, no dream
or other need.
I simply opened my eyes.
I could just make out the abandon of clothes
in a bank on the floor,
palm-held glasses on the bedside table,
dark wine barely touched,
the whirr of fan, a sound of surf just beyond
the sliding screen door.
Lying here, I think of the beach
as it is right now.
There is peace in the roll of water,
the ruffle of sea grass in the wind,
a scattering of unbroken shells on the beach,
and the scuttle of hatchlings towards ebb tide
finding haven on tiny rafts of algae
that will carry them away
like refugees clinging to the dark.
© Susan Muse, 2011