Surf

Cameron Morse

Breath is soft, surf

from a distant island, before day-

break, another day breaks

upon you. Your day sees you

sitting with your kitten

and advances its handshake from a distance.

What was that about an island, again,

for a fugitive? A small island

that breathes, its scent

of salt and seaweed. Whatever.

Where you can remember the way food tastes,

its original flavor. An island that flowers

folds its handkerchief into your breast pocket.

Breath tramps off among the dandelions

but stays within earshot. Day breaks

its egg into a bowl and you beat it with a fork.