Waves. (a poem)

I dreamt that we went surfing

along the Oregon coast.

Our lives, baptized

by those cold, Pacific waves.

On the shore, we ate plums

dusted

in sand.

Cannon Beach, maybe.

You laughed,

and I smiled.

And I don’t remember the color of your eyes but

I remember how I felt

when you looked at me:

whole, holy,

whatever the word is

for the feeling of transcendent

beauty.

A wonder large enough

to break me, just like

those waves

crashing

over our windburned faces and memories.

I think about you more

now than I did when

we were closer than the

length of Alaska

from each other.

And though I know you’ve

got your own

life to live and

loves to love,

I dream of surfing, and you next to me

on the Oregon coast.

Cannon Beach, maybe.

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