beaches (1)

by Rebecca Perry

you frown in your beautiful portrait,
seeming dead way ahead of time,
in your weak blue oval of enamel sky.
what’s wrong, my little peach?
tonight a wolf’s eyes will glow violet
in a forest you’ll never see
in a place you can’t know. is that it?
and, somewhere, is a whole beach
made of glass pebbles you will never
lie down on, nor will your skin reflect
its blue, green, white, and burn.