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,
cold with sea and mine the only body
in which to warm itself
my tears the only other wet
the wind might dry
the sea’s hem a crackling yellow foam
tearing among the black kelp heads
then tugged back for mending
the sand flea burrows bubble open between washes
and there is one cry, I think, a gull I can’t see
one small stretch of me
walking, the one in cotton
among strewn and sanded wood,
not sharing this space with anyone with a camera,
no beer logo blanket, no sunscreen bottle leaking
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