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”
I left a message for you in a book.
It is like me to mark provocative phrases,
to shake them out in ponderous verses.
Do not read too much in the fallout,
the notes in the border are for nostalgia’s sake.
I dreamt of you again last night
whose aura I barely recall.
My suffering is not in knowing what was real
but what was not.