When you call,
Our tide flows toward shore
And ebb rushes back to sea,
I want to walk on beach
Under your fully lit face,
Howling dogs in distance,
I want to be your drummer
Beating at the rushing flow,
I want to play flute
To serenade the retreating ebb.
You pull tide relentlessly by the hour
Marking lines on beach and boulders,
Until the neap tide rests
From coming and going
To rest your arms.
When you call rushing tides
With windswept spray on their backs,
You pull my heart strings,
Resuscitating my memories long ago.
2020
The Year of Rat
yenna yi 