in the morning, we walk the beach in silence,
hand in hand, bathed in sunlight,
surrounded by a blue, cloudless sky,
waves lapping rhythmically,
hypnotic, echoing the heartbeat of life;
this must be heaven;
images and words, flow like
electric current;
“I should have brought something to
write with,” I tell her,
“I’ve written an entire poem in my head,
but I’ll never remember it;”
I’ve lost so many that way,
slipping through my fingers
like liquid glass;
gone forever;
we watch a pod of dolphins,
fishing just off shore,
slowly breaking the surface,
bobbing and weaving,
the way it has been for thousands
of years, the talk on the news is about
oil, economic crises and recovery,
but the dolphins don’t seem to care;
and neither do I.
.
.
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