Summer 2014: Poetry
What Cape Alava Was Like Then
by Linda Strever
for Barry
Our footprints offered us shine. We found
the whole sky glistening next to a crab,
shimmering in a doe’s eye while she
nursed her fawn. Pelicans and terns pierced
waves, puffins sparked rocks. We noticed
our hands, how they opened and closed
like memory, like mouths. We couldn’t tell
the difference between tears and the ocean.
We knew we would miss what disappeared
before we saw it, asked the tide to hold us
still enough. Last light rimmed the horizon.
We didn’t need fire to welcome the dark.
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