the moon molten gold shimmering
slips
into the sea without a word
we had waited by the shore to say good-bye
where we had pulled up silvery fish
and between our fingers let them slip away
and there had felt the cool sand in
our toes as the shovel made tidy walls revealing clams
that was long ago
and now my step is slower
and the song in my mind
keeps pace only with the foaming surf
he is still here, in the bobbing waves
and the shifting breeze
and the warm sand of my
memory
only I cannot touch him.
Copyright: Gloria Gay, 2004
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