A Tiny Set Of Claws
After a teeming rain, the beach packed firm, it is easy to walk on sand.
I look, I really look, into the eyes of each person who meets my gaze.
And I see, I can really see that we look just alike.
Seagulls flock overhead,
fight black beak to black beak for a slice of yellow cheese someone tossed at them.
A fine looking shell with a tiny set of claws inside is washed in with the tide pooling
around my feet.
On the way home, with a piece of driftwood,
I scratch our initials in the wet pink cement this city on the beach puts down for sidewalks.
25 years, U + Me,
and still it feels as if we are getting away with something.