We sat by the ocean that night,
and watched the tide go out...
Waves, crashing on the beach
then receding, again, and again;
and in its wake, detritus...driftwood...
one algae encrusted shoe; bottles,
plastic bags, battered Coke cans.
Couch grass rattled in the dunes
We missed the last train back,
and I fell asleep – head on your lap,
on a bench at the station, and yet
I don’t even remember your name...
not presently. It’s not you I yen for,
it’s those days I miss – days of
‘What the heck’, when we just knew,
without question, we’d always
make it home again.