Stanley Winn

Pale shake shingles, we—
lying side-by-side
exposed to chafing salt
and air’s unfiltered rays.

The sea will sooner bleach us
down to bone
like polished fittings—brass,
the rapid-aging all-corrosive sand
inside your swimsuit.

The friction reminds us:
we lack tough shells of beached horseshoe crabs,
struggling, stranded, our own soft cells
long accustomed to seeking the sun.

With shared pairs of eyes
we gaze on a barnacle-crusted floor—
they see as we: tough
bones set in the same dull polish.

“Here, let me help,” I say,
as I rub the salt sea in,
summoning tidal swells
of our own rising blood.

Stanley Winn is an American writer and musician. He is currently living, writing, and attempting in vain to re-invent himself in Berlin, Germany. He blogs occasional poetry at
Read more from Stanley Winn: Self-Portrait With Dinner