Thursday, August 22, 2013


Even if the soggy footprints
we leave at the edge of the sea
refuse to provide proof of our passing through,

even if the briny air carries our conversation
only as far as the first gray breaker,
even if that shiny blue crow continues

its just-in-time hop always only this far
out of reach before squawking a rebuke
in our direction and grabbing the wind,

the quiet space between the crush of waves
and our small talk, the slide of your hand
from mine as you hurry ahead for a piece

of driftwood you send all the way back
to the random wandering of its kind,
the way you let me lift you and spin us

around and around during our barely
being able to kiss for the laughing
will all have happened nonetheless.

San Pedro River Review - Fall 2013

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