Coyote Song
Not yet dead already ash,
Already invisible, unknowable,
Smell the sea just beyond the pines,
Hear the wind combing out salt Marsh,
Osprey call, mullet get eaten,
Gather up what you can
We will flee with falling light, with coyote song,
Emptiness of waves welcome us, mangrove
Conceal our passing,
Not yet dead, already gone,
Sleep with one foot against the door,
It’s your neighbors that will come for you,
After coffee, eggs and bacon,
What my father never knew,
The sharpest blade
Is for cutting sorrow.
84 (Any Scar)
Cutting was the secret language
of moon and moss
textured layers of shadow
without day or spark
oaks hold themselves penultimate
ancient in a landscape of erosion
cabbage palms shaggy
with my supplications
sheaves of paperwork
endless recitations of symptoms
a midden of discarded words
what we cast off
wave tumbled round
sea is my only certainty
liquid incandescence
saltier than blood
smoother than any scar
Bio: Peach Delphine is a queer poet from Tampa, Florida. Infatuated with what remains of the undeveloped Gulf coast.
Fevers of the Mind 
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