We meet at the shore at dawn. The dirt 

parking lot is draped in navy black 

and I can’t yet see the path to the west.

The sounds of shorebirds are waves 

and wings. The bubbles of air under 

the low tide, sand piper toes. I wanted 

to know you gradually but I talked

too much. I wanted to invite you 

to the honey-scented room where 

I was spending the chilly weekend

but I feared my eagerness would 

make promises my body couldn’t 

deliver. It’s so tiring to hurt. At the 

shoreline, I crouch to zoom in 

on an orange beak, a bickering. 

In the end, our intersection was 

momentary, the sun on feathers 

and pearlescent shells. Seafoam 

splashes over my boots, the water 

enveloping the soles, greedy, grasping.