On Aquidneck Island, a single red boat tied to the rocky region like life welded to death. Here my teeth are canoes. On this omnivorous island, waves hunt me on the frigid beaches. The sea breeze, always terse, demands me in my wholeness to dissolve into so much sand. In this way, glass is made. In that way, a mirror is made, in which you can see yourself crying while you think you’re smiling.
Miniature Moon 