without dog unhooked from leather leash heaving himself at the frisbee with the chewed edge,
without brown bottles broken in the coals of old fires,
without anyone touching in the dark spaces of dunes,
without volleyball, without towel,
mine the only body in which wind
could warm itself cold with sea,
my tears the only other water
but for blood -- in the sand fleas, in the lonesome gull,
yellow foam at the sea’s hem crackling
and me the one in cotton
among strewn and sanded wood,
not sharing this space with anyone with a camera,
no blanket, no sunscreen bottle leaking
I was it
day
one shore
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