Lovey walks ahead of me,
he is following the tire tracks
of a jeep that's driven in the sand,
beyond the track, he reminds me,
is lava; we cannot step there.
We follow the tracks across
the beach to a blue tower,
I put down our bag and
we walk out towards the water,
running after receding waves,
retreating as they approach,
we draw a line in the wet compacted
sand where we think the water will advance to,
people lay on surfboards in the water,
play volleyball in the sand,
we take our shirts off and the sun feels
good on our skin,
The wind gusts and blows grains of sand
up into us, we turn away from the wind,
closing our eyes,
it is the middle of January,
this cannot last.
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