sometimes i get stuck in tunnels

it’s a sunny morning.
snowy. clouds
snagged up on the
piney briar
of mountain.

thick sky piled deep in blue.

it might rain.

it might make sense
to
wear a hat,
sunglasses,
a slick on the skin
to
ward off a burning.

baitfish flash in waves.
steel boats chortle out of the harbor.
whales and birds.
seals and humans.
humans, clad mostly
in rubber.

everything shining.

the old ways of doing things
are old.
the new ways of doing things
won’t last long.

it’s always an uncertainty,
whether it will be
collapse,
or understanding,
that changes us.

the ocean changes color.
the people do too.
in the late Summer
some of the salmon,
if there are any left,
change their skin
from silver
to dark green
and purple.
in the late Summer,
the people are tired
from their harvest.
the sun has tired
of our piece of sky.
the fish,
if there are any left,
are up in rivers
and lakes,
off in the deep pockets
of sea.

the boats come back
to the harbors.
most of the people
leave.
on ocean floor
and in the bottoms
of bank accounts,
another layer of skin.

just as all of my
black tattoos
always
eventually
turn blue.