My body shifts in the sand
I cannot rise
for the slicing of bread
the elastic monotony of dough
the past is a different meat and potato pie
I cannot help you today
I cannot get you anything at all
there is a glass of water on the table
my face fits comfortably inside
I can almost see the horizon
suddenly there’s a demanding southerly
waves in a glass of water are dangerous
sometimes deadly
look! there is no spoon
sometimes I cry at the lack of a spoon.