untitled

what does the turtle. say to the earth's rotation?

how can time. erase. more than the tides?

boulders and sandbars. hold my memories together

even after. they are rhythmically buried. dispersed

but that house. being built on the dune

the beach. the horizon

that is no longer public

that

takes something from me

takes the future. compresses it

even if. that future would not have been mine

suddenly. shockingly. empty

and i think

i think of how. we take our nature

protect. consolidate

like battening down. the hatches

boarding up. the windows

filling the basement. with bottled water

before impending storms

not thinking. never thinking

of who is left outside. to fend for themselves

before. and after. the storms have passed over

i think. of the hysteria

in the foundations. of this sentinel

erected on the precipice

of what we call our own. what we think we own

i see. the mirages of my childhood

flailing by the water

on the sand. that is now private. inaccessible

the property that has stamped out

that stamps out

the joy of our shared spaces

the wonder of earth's phenomena

and the dark truth that

the places i cherish. the places i love

were stolen. centuries ago

long before. they were taken from me