at easter island (a poem by me)



photo courtesy 3191



at easter island

at easter island where the fur of the sandpiper moves in segments

to the wind off the coast of the jetti 

and the docks creak against the bulkheads, supple

from soaking and dried from the salt

I heard you laughing like a child

eyes flickering like sunlight dancing on the surface

of the blueberry water.