On The Beach

The car door creaks but only the sun with
its ultraviolet glare responds as she
reaches for wraparound shades that obscure
the howl of the wind and the lure of the
coldest winter yet – a June day in San
Francisco. Ocean Beach is our spot but

the auto is obdurate, refusing
to accelerate as we talk and laugh.
We pass buildings rowed like dominoes
and at stop signs I laugh louder, hoping
the sputtering idle an omen unheard.

Lunch, saran-wrapped (the one that will remain
uneaten while clasps go undone), sits and
waits as she does while my feet walk to the
water barefoot, feeling gravel and grit
burrow into toes, my stomach bottomless.

Now I breathe in the waves and they tease my
eyes, appearing to swallow fishing ships
whole. The horizon extends to the world's
edge and amidst this vastness, nature looms;
Sunlight squeals; wind whips salt tears; the sea and

I are one even as I fear what these
tides can do, even as I map out space
needed for two bodies missionary
on blankets brought under the guise of a
perfect picnic lunch; what I fear most is
what the tides and the ships already know -

that nothing will stop this.