It’s not up to me
to decide what moves you—

the waves, the broken glass tucked in
and ready to sleep. It’s a birthday party

and I’m drunk, watching the water
lull the gulls to drift. Seaside

I can’t help but think
that there’s time enough to touch

the future. Can’t help but touch the future.
I’m ready to be washed

and to wash with you, if you’ll join me.
I’m ready for the glass

to catch up with us, waves at our ankles,
in rhythm with the music, and rising.

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