this is the story of your red right ankle

This afternoon I'm going on a walk in Pacifica with my MFA workshop in poetry. We were to bring a poem with us sort of describing the pier and our expectations of the walk etc. Here's what I came up with-

Somersault

they’re just words—
words stacked on end tables
heaved into black smoke
down twisted highways, skirt the edges of mountains
series of letters ‘round your neck
alphabet soup mix, fruit loop bowls
my tiny twine string
sometimes edible begets
a permanent engraved arm band

deep gauged rivulets run to my left
water marks are long and lean
hand packed sand to build
like winter snow men-caked in ice

when I whisper into your ear
I say things like:
Whisker tickles, harpy heroines, droopy faced dogs
You swat at your ear
You say things like:
Did you hear the buzz? It was close this time.

when we approach the pier we start dropping off
boards splinter off into the Pacific
little sugar cubes popped into tea
swirl and let us ride a wave
until we somersault onto sand
heaved and heart beat happy

poke around with a big stick
letters appear in pockets
under armpits and behind knee bends
keep collecting to make words
find your way home
deep in a blanket fold—sleep