by J. C. Reilly
Sunset red as a scar puckers the early evening sky.
The seabirds glint like small comets and are gone.
The seabirds glint like small comets. Gone
are the people under umbrellas, sprawled on towels.
People sheltering under umbrellas or sprawled on towels
have left us behind, so the beach is finally ours.
Even when the beach is full, it is always ours,
two sisters with memories of a father’s abandonment.
Two sisters with memories of a father's abandonment
exult as a school of dolphins jumps the waves.
A school of dolphins in great arcs jumps the waves,
more elegantly than the two of us at high tide.
Something of rupture is more elegant than high tide.
Something of rupture puckers the heart’s evening sky.