Moonstone/Not My Son

Veins of greywhite

shoot through rocks.

Their forms would be easier,

little mountain-selves smoother

without the steady worry.

On Moonstone Beach

green yellow red seaweed

nouveau chefs will arrange

to look like your day at the beach.

Some son who is not mine.

I say this to protect myself

if he becomes lost to undersea adventure,

the red visor floater

marking his departing,

mocking me for choosing it,

shorts & cap to match.

Way out there

may be an orange boat    the people in it

drag his little body from the water    the orange boat

may be thick seaweed    i think it is

there is only one person out there

maybe he is a stick

from Color Voices Place