—Pamlico Sound, North Carolina
It is morning and the pelicans are filling the sky; they glide past in silence—
stare at the choppy river below.
The right cuff of my pants is soaked as we walk up the beach together.
I say “together” but she is far ahead of me—slender and fleet—a spring doe
skimming the sand.
The game we play is an ancient one—you know the name, you made the rules.
A crab at the edge of the pier clacks his blue claws and scowls—hungry
to escape the sweet warm wash of nostalgia.
And the gulls diving from the sky are maniacal—compelled by greed,
they fall—gleaming white missiles of laughter and tears.
She is so far ahead of me now that I plan for tomorrow.
The pelicans—ugly with patience & wisdom—glide gently past.
The hungover fishermen finish their coffee, pull on their rubber boots.
Around the bend, the ferry churns the dark water white—gives three
long bellows of its horn.