When I walk to the sea
I can go two ways
– two ends of a line
she follows the words past her index finger
two fingers and a thumb rub
when I walk to the sea
the pile in the palm of the hand
fingertips removing grains
salting the meat just starting to burn
I must keep it in hand
if it comes from a jar
I can’t feel it
she points the way she’s reading
pricks the meat
when I walk to the sea
I can go two ways
my fingers rub
I sift the sea.