Nothing West But Water

Our descent: slowed by my bad balance
on uneven stairs, my fear of heights,
yet here we are,
the city east and nothing west but water.

Morning, beach wide and nearly empty
mist closing horizon
we wade ankle-deep in the Pacific
foam unfurling underfoot.

Tall and angular, you bend to sift
through pebbles as you did
decades ago wearing a yellow sunhat
near Barnegat’s jetties.

No matter what the maps say,
it’s all one ocean. If you held my hand then,
if I hold your hand now,
it’s all one lifetime.

-

I Don’t Want These. Maybe Someone Else Will Find a Use for Them.

Battery pack for a broken camera. Parts
for a car I do not own. Certificate of merit.
Silver bell. Pantyhose, package unopened.
Bulb planters, soup tureen, candy dish shaped
like a hen, three old lovers. Indecipherable
lyrics. Photographs of people I don’t know.
A song I used to love. Nights the moon is absent.
Endless sorrows. One body, much worn.