Not knowing what to look for.
Nonetheless, an urgency to this

turning over of bones and shards of words.

Question this jagged edge
or that unlooked-for loveliness.
There are two patterns, both provisional,
one of the mind, the other
the sea asserts. The time, though,
precludes harmony, the Eden fit.

Footsteps to find you, maybe,

or proof that you’ve been here.
Your past, though, in this gold place,
lost beyond recall.
Unless there’s repair
in the structure of air.