Unless the migrant waves
dissolve in foam (oh green
riders, sweet mammal bones
in a broken plane of air)
there will be holes in the sea.

There will be holes, lost
caverns of light, brilliant
arms, incandescent hair
burning in nitrogen
night. There will be gaps
between howling walls, crows
among globular stars, whipping

through blown-out solar
winds. Here where shoreline
blurs into sand-mist dust,
sea songs open veins
of salt. Who will heal
the shadow holes, grim mouths
ripped through webs of time,
whispering to blue wings of night?

About the poet: Steve Klepetar teaches literature and writing at Saint Cloud State University in Minnesota . His work has been published in journals like Snakeskin, GHOTI, New Works Review and others, and over the past three years he has received nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Web.