I shrunk him,
and I put him in a coke-bottle full of smoke
in my pocket
and kept right on down the beach.
I wore my sunglasses at night to look again
and go figure:
it’s hard to see with blinders on.
It’s hard to walk with clunky things in your pockets.
(The shore offers up
all kinds of precious things
but sometimes all we do is make tracks.)
Rubies look like rocks in the dark,
in the dark when you don’t want to see,
and the sand underfoot is of little concern
with your pants already full of glass,
but one pointy shell can knock you flat,
break your bottle and make you wish
you weren’t always eyeing up the moon.