After you left I jogged along the shoreline past the carnation houses along the jetties where scattered surfers waded hoping to catch the last waves. A haze veiled the shore and vanished in the rain. Globules of salt encrusted my eyelids and each breath ripped upward from my belly tearing through my lungs. I sank down on the damp sand behind the old seafood restaurant. Unearthly howls carried out across the waves dissolving into the sea.
I want to believe that the ocean is a froth meringue not a murky depth where in heavy boots you wade past that place where you lose your grip and the rush of saltwater fills your eyes and mind but not the air.
Sea gulls swoop and squawk, perfect black angles against the sky. I open my book by Tennessee Williams whose writing I abhor but the edge of its cover was leaning out as I passed the bookcase, Sweet Bird of Youth.
*So I close my eyes softly
’til I become that part of the wind
that we all long for sometime”
Remember the cabin among the trees hidden like rabbits resting in nests of autumn leaves? Beside the window that looks out on the river there is a writer’s desk with printer’s ink and fresh flowers kissed by the sun in the sill. Do you recall the sweet days we shared among redwoods that spoke to us? The memory evokes such nostalgia for that ache, that fierce crushing devotion. I left a heart shaped basket of seeds in the arch of a tree for the birds to scatter, etched our names on its bark. I will always remember you and the cabin by the river, the sultry nights I would dance for you, sheer layers floating to the herringbone floor.