On shore, skin filters water
from light, paper from tissue.
Small stones drawn from the sea
mix the brow of shell.
Two hands raise a patch
and a trail of collage follows.
At the onset of thunder
you describe lightning art –
glass staged by voltage.
I think tadpole shadow,
sand caught
between shoulder blade
and back.
On shore, the first break,
the second –
then we leave.
Calling my name
you shake the blanket,
my skin in there somewhere
and yours too.
—
Tyler Kline balances his time between working on an organic vegetable farm and studying English at The University of Delaware. A Pushcart Prize nominee, his work has appeared or is forthcoming in Saint Katherine Review, Rust + Moth, and San Pedro River Review.