Gray houses facing the sea.
You might remember those mornings of fog and mist,
the in-rush of sea foam, waves breaking,
the broken weathervane on the dilapidated house striking the red-tiled roof. Seabirds flying over the sandbar,
white, like the inland birds seen surrounding cows.
One bird in particular was beautiful coming in,
sailing at a constant height, then dropping a few feet
on extended wings, then the next fall, tier-like,
down to the shallow water and silver waves.
Your wrists inside little cuffs of jewelry
motioning in the air and your face
the one I carry with me into the present.
Iridescent scales washed to our feet,the invertebrate shells
of random shapes and colors
from that tumultuous and caged sea
we watched all afternoon, wordless.
Your hand fell into mine. I perished into the afternoon.
Tugboats moving through water,
and the gates of the storefront windows being drawn down.
Years now since we pondered our lives by the sea
and where no shadow fell across us.
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