There was a poet in the family

   oh yes, a century back, black-

haired, green-eyed, lean

combo of charm and arrogance

At parties

he superimposed himself on guests

sucked the purple from wine

to dye his breath—so charming, though

we hardly minded

One night, he vanished

We found him, yes, years after

flat on sand

preserved by sun

   posing, it seemed

like bones of a bird

in a glass case

on his thinned lips

a look of serene achievement

We covered him in sand, and

walked home