Thursday, February 3, 2011

On the Beach at Night.

Most nights there we would walk down to the dock together,
Dipping our feet in the dark water, strewn with light
We would squint across the bay, pairs of red and green lights swimming down in the water,
Rows of gold lights dripping toward our toes
On the peninsula we saw the ferris wheel, like a dream
Turning and glittering, the boats drifting before us, one or two at a time
And the dance hall, brightest of all
The roof covered in electric bulbs,
Boats crowded around it while the moon spilled white and close
And always I asked you for the same stories,
There was the one about the lilac water,
About the dances in the hall across from us,
About the things you used to do and the people you used to know.
Huddled in a slick green jacket and cross-legged on the dock floor,
I looked up at you and then out at the water until we walked back.
Later it was gardens and shops,
Later it was restaurants and museums,
Later it was streets, hotels, French windows and New York leaves,
Later it was souvenirs and postcards,
Later it was letters,
Later I was only coming home, instead of leaving
(for a little while)
And I would hold you longest of anyone,
And love you more than all the rest,
And last summer at the dock I swear-
I swear I saw something bright and blue and wondering,
Swimming in tiny circles,
And the next night and all the nights after, it was gone.

2 comments:

  1. To quote Facebook: "Like." Especially the allusion to Gatsby.

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