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June 15, 2001
Staring at the edge
Of the water,
My toe pointing
Further east,
Beyond what I know
Already, broken off
From origin, unimagineable
In the face of the wet sand
Puddle on the beach
Unreflective as the faces
Of herons in the dunes

Mimicking your motions,
Echoing your hands in the air
Emphasizing what I should not have said

To bring the day back from luminescence.
Staring at starfish drying
Sandflies pestering the grass blades,
While you quietly collect sea glass shards.

All these small things
Come into focus in our hands
Becoming something they were
Never meant to be.