When no dog unhooked from leather leash
heaved himself at the frisbee with the chewed edge,
when no towel unfolded,
when, brown bottles broken in the coals,
old fires’ only motions in log-hid holes
were the falling-in of new sand,
when, cold with sea the wind,
hurried to my mouth,
the cold of it starting tears,
when, yellow foam crackling,
the surf rolled unroped kelp heads and seagrapes
hissed,
when, between washes, sand flea burrows
bubbled open, and, carried over them,
not one gull cut the white with her gray,
when no striped umbrella puffed,
no sunscreen shone on a red shoulder,
and no sand knew turret or moat,
when, in the dark spaces of dunes
no one turned to touch, and there were grasses
sliding merely against grasses, I
stretched out my arms,
the one in stiff cotton standing,
the one in hard shoes,
was shore,
was white, wide,
sand, water, and I
let the wind, warmer, go.
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