Vrsar

i was not born a magician,
but i can skip stones,
so in a way
these hands and wrists are more enchanting than you think.

the sea and pebbled shore
crack and click beneath my shoes like smooth marbles. 
i walk the arches of the Croatian coastline
with purely my backpack and a heavy mind, 
the rounded peninsula near Vrsar 
expanding from my vision 
and aiming at the pair of islands on the horizon
like a wand 

i do not know any spells, 
so i collect a pocketful of flat stones
and let them gallop with my regrets
into the darker shades of deep, 
hoping their ripples will carry my apology 
back into rocks 
where you sit to let the shallow tide-pools and sunset 
bath your feet

the layer of clouds float and observe overhead, 
spraying mists of moisture 
and bullets of sunshine,
like machine gun fire, 
into my bare arms and chest 
as i undress
and prepare to launch my own body against the surface,
vanishing into the water
like a white dove

i was not born a magician 
but i can feel forgiveness, 
so in a way 
i do get to reappear after all.