the moon 

pours its light

into the sea,

motioning long 

rolling swells

to slap 

the dozing granite,

as stellar fireflies

blink their love stories

in morse code.

salt spray 

licks my heels 

like a rambunctious pup

as the orb weaver’s 


is hung to dry.

she retires

beneath the surfer’s pier

which is gargling 

the evening tide

and spitting it 

towards the sky.

barnacles close

for the night,

and i rest

embraced by the hollow

of a tide weary stone.


To embrace where you are is also to have gratitude for where you have been.

© M.G. Iannucci 2017

Photo: Beach at Night

13 thoughts on “Luna

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