***
Twelfth month, twelfth day,
the last full moon of this decade.
12 signifies completion.
At 12 PM, after my morning hustles
with bank cards and money,
I am boardwalking on Coney Island –
forgotten land’s end of hushed charm.
I jump over wood planks,
counting this year’s
victories and disillusions.
I pass the empty Luna Park,
singing again ‘I’m dancing barefoot’.
I follow seagulls down on a pier,
the open Atlantic I swallow.
Besieged by Russian sounds –
the lingua franca here –
I am getting close to the water’s edge,
further from people’s voices,
I dabble toes in frigid waves,
observed with caution by the Farris wheel.
I am, I am the wind
at the far end of the Steeplechase Pier –
a 1000-foot long arm into the ocean.
I am. I am the fishermen,
they said: “It is the season for herring”.
The famous hotdog I haven’t tried
at Nathan’s – closed for winter.
I am. I’m dancing barefoot over the waves,
my toes and fingers turn rubber.
Twelfth month, twelfth day,
the last full moon of this decade.
I am. I am the ocean on December 12,
At 12 PM,
12 is a water sign.
