An October day – we could see our breath.
You and I had the beach all to ourselves.
Artwork in the sand – talkin’ about death.
You wanted to talk about somethin’ else.
You were watchin’ the clouds, and me, the waves.
You stayed close enough to borrow my warmth.
You talked origin; I talked about age –
prayed to witness when the tropics move north.
We outran the tide five feet to a time
till the fairy tale was an aftermath.
You said that love travels in a straight line
with language intercepting its path…
that words shouldn’t change the trajectory of souls;
that death’s a grip on a loss of control.