AT GREAT ROCK BIGHT

Ahead, white tide slaps shingle

with a sound of flesh on flesh,

a double line of footprints

on the wet tan beach

appearing molten briefly,

then erased.

Love is a craft

of necessary griefs.

The wound is present

when the tie is formed.

A strand of hair, a touch recalled;

the skiff that glancing back

we ride.

Version first published in Dunes Review, Vol. 23 No. 1 (Winter/Spring 2019)