seated on my island of pebbles
I can feel the evening tide circling in
the ocean is reshaping the slough
and swallows what was ashore two waves ago

as the wool runs through my cooled hands
my smile becomes a mirror of the September sun
its light turns into a reflection on the wool
wavy, and in the color of sand
today’s hagstone mutteres alongside my stitches

it is a hagstone in the making
an adolescent portal through the hole
started but not drilled all the way yet

I know no other place so dense in hagstones
maybe this is why I feel safe here,
blessed by their protective energies
and the osprey carried higher and higher
by the wind that strings straight to the bones

I catch my breath as the long-billed curlews
reel in for dinner, perfectly seizing
a waxing moon in their backs

as they make the turn towards
their foraging grounds