Alchemisland

A quiet bay

If anyone else ever came

I wasn’t there that day to say hello

Or explain the pile of ripe-smelling clothesless bodies

Wailing for clay’s embrace, denoting

My art’s zenith. Votives

For my seaside queen

Whose steeds are Stormwave and Decksweep.

A cove, a cave deep

Moist black from attacks of spit-kin sea spray.