Change

A shift occurs
after all these years.
The copper sand on
the flat page of the beach
does not succumb to tidal
pull. The gray-eyed wolf
noses in the snow for
blood. Old rituals do not
make sense. What is needed now
is precarious as a lone sunfish
in an ancient ocean, relentless
as the words that fly from my mind
to their perch on the screen.