By Courtney Hitson

In what shapes do we exist without
the parameters that define us? Who
am I, if indiscernible from the drowned?
Aging is a slow approach to boundary
until the breach. The sea skulks 
beneath her tides, the moon pressing
waves out, as if ribbons of wood 
from an awl. As atom-clumps
we’re blessed an iota of now
to distinguish ourselves 
from the ether. To collage
shells of the dead into murals
that glimmer against the sun.

~~~~~

Courtney Hitson teaches English at the College of the Florida Keys. She currently has work forthcoming in Kestrel Review, Qu, and Sequestrum. Outside of writing, she enjoys scuba-diving, freestyle unicycling, and philosophy. Courtney and her husband, Tom (also a poet), reside in Key West, Florida, with their two cats.