Cold Feet Poem by Jerry Pike

Going to get cold feet,
I take off my shoes,
knot the laces together,
and stand, sinking while I write.
Maybe twenty on Caswell,
children thick on life,
parents-a-grown.
A human starfish
sleeks under the foam,
prehistoric emblem
for the coast.
I see your house,
grand as 1910
in an evergreen fuzz.
Sculptured slopes
tearing the seas edge.
Scarring beautifully,
that corner of heaven,
saved for the few.