Just before sea-coated sky,
the Anhinga reaches bat wings
against the Intercoastal
canal, Palm Coast.
Red Drum bite below
the rocks bayside,
Slapping their spiny tail,
undermining
the séance. There is no
reason here,
the surf casts salt on
the sniffing interloper.
A skein of Pelicans dip
in the fire-pooled ocean.
Oil of night drips on what’s
more unaccustomed
The maelstrom of water knows
the water spout eases off the coast.
Whiting and sting ray
pull in the wake. Your parents
are here, retired
in the swampy pin oak.
Buried with each passing
Hurricanecasting
blessings upon
nonexistent grandchildren.
Copyright © 2019 by Jonathan Andrew Pérez.