by dm gillis

on the beach
where we burned our Christmas tree
where the flames of our late past
spoke and galaxies snubbed us
the ocean rolled in
on gusts of nervous hope
dead by then and nameless
after its causative moment

we pocketed our futures there
with our keys
and rolled the guessed at years to come
through our fingers
their weight, that of planets
their mass, that of nickels and dimes