Poetry, 1st Place
by Gail Comorat
Lewes,Delaware
This moon, this retina-burning
bright moon lases a silver incision
into the skin of the sea, arcs a path
over sand, spotlights clusters of horseshoe crabs
rustling, seething—star-crossed lovers
forced to rendezvous for brief encounters.
Perhaps through a trick of moonlight,
this sky seems made of mica and quartz,
waves shrugging their way to shore
appear edged in eyelet. Somewhere
in the low hanging pines, cicadas begin
their slow heckle of night as you reach
for my hand, lean in to sear my lips. For now,
this impossible, radiant beach belongs only to us.
Too soon, our chimera days will waver,
will go the way of all mirages. But tonight,
this moon in all its wisdom, smiles on us,
grants us permission to believe
we’re composed of spindrift
shaped into minor gods.