She could not break through
the berm barricading the flow
of his thoughts. He silently searches

for her along the eroding bluff
through a tidal marsh beyond
the cove to the lagoon. Hiding

in plain sight in the diminished
dunes, she fears he will never find
her, or say what she needs to hear

(or anything at all). The spit

where they met that moonless
August night has washed away.
What remains cannot be reached

without a wetsuit, mask,
fins, air tank, handful
of worry stones. If only

her transition to shrunken island
with aeolian ripples
were not so complete,

his voice not swallowed whole
by a tidal bore. If only,
the rocky beach.