By Peter Halstead

Surf fingers beat against the cay
Across the IV table
Like fingers on the slack key
Strings on the suite’s cable,
And if every time the chips
Fall the way they do,
Strewn the way your finger rips
The life support away from you,
Fingering your veins, the way
Trees in wind wildly tip
Their palms against the sea—
As if your hand has made a sudden slip,
Only fingering the chart
You used to know by heart.

Kawela Point
May 7th and May 20th, 2018