I HAVEN’T BEEN TO A BEACH FOR A WHILE
I haven’t been to a beach for a while.
The last time, it was newly night.
Sand found its way between my toes,
wet with its daily dose of sea.
There were pieces of moon abed on blue,
a deep blue I didn’t know before
but now hunt in shadows
of buildings, parked cars,
telephone poles, anywhere the dark goes.
That night he told me how he and his friends
used to take the boat out
and fish on summer evenings.
He would put his hand in the water
and fish would flow, living waves of light,
between his fingers
He hoped phosphorescence
was not from blind evolution, but a thing
less necessary, more magical.
“Quiet,” I said. “Why?” he said.
I had no answer.
This is where the sand changes into sea,
where a minute and a moment are different
only by formality.
No matter how many times
I shake my head and say
thank you, that’s enough –
the beach keeps bringing these to me,
gives and gives
as if I would never leave it,
as if I were a guest
at a party where no one knew enough
to show me the way out,
kiss me good night,
make sure I didn’t leave anything behind.
