The sea on my honeymoon is nearly silent around me.
A faint skitter of fiddler crabs on the sand connects
to a murmur of the night-wind in the palm trees behind me.
My lover tide is making low complaints like the aching earth,
caressing and bitter against an expectant land.
I keep half-awake the anguished spirits of self-love;
I half-lull them with my brand-new lover—
we give them a soothing song to ease the embers from the brand.
Then, the moment pales—a broken trail of sparks on water in the east,
a splash of crimson paint so frail it cannot last.
It leaves like a night to a brand-new day.