I walk over crackling shells and loose pebbles
and step carefully across sand and suckling mud
To stand as close as I dare
to these waters
of von Geldern Cove.
Having looked at a map, I know that
--if I could peer through the grayness
in front of me--
I'd see the north tip of Fox Island
and Green Point.
Instead, I'm satisfied
standing and listening to patting on my head
from rain
that drips off the back of my ears
and soaks my sweater.
A pair of gulls tease and dance.
He, with his white body and
patterned wings flies above,
swoops below,
and for awhile calls alongside.
He drops down on dark sand, but
she flies on,
and we stand in the rain, on this shoreline,
contemplating our losses.
The tide has turned some time ago
already inching toward my toes.
I know it's silly and incongruous, but
I hear a song
from a Kevin Bacon movie
(of all things) playing in my mind;
you know, when he's in a waiting room,
...not knowing: "Pray God you can cope..."
It's a sad song, especially right now.
But I close my eyes and listen to Kate sing
that refrain again:
"I know you have a little life in you yet."
I let raindrops fall on my face,
and against my teeth.
My feet sink an inch more
under sand and water, and
it occurs to me how very wet I'll be
if I stay here ...just an
hour or two more...
over my head, really.
"I know you've got a lot of strength left."
So, pulling my feet out, I turn from cove, gull, and gray
to the wall, to the stairs,
and I climb.
