Poseidon

Gnats pick at me in the dunes,
the way you used to pick at me 

for bringing the wrong shoes. 
And I blow them away,

Off my page, pen, and hand,
but I’m still wearing your bandana. 

I cannot breathe in too hard, for 
fear of sucking them into my 

nose and mouth, and I cannot 
think too hard, for fear of finding

pieces of you everywhere here. 
It’s been four years and five

women since I was invited to
this beach, but like a gnat 

I am back to this ocean, back to this sea,
because Poseidon has no owner.