when we lived by the ocean
I learned to tell time by the tides
(I guess I should say I couldn’t
tell time a thing — or keep it)
there was no second hand . . .
no sense of calendar —
just the giving and taking
away of the beach twice a day:
a waltz to the rhythm of the moon
on this spring tide of sunshine
and darkness, this longest night
I am mindful of what has washed
up and washed away on the beaches
of my heart, a waltz of my own
to the metronome of missing:
the giving and taking away —
the giving and taking away . . .
the giving and taking away.