I took us to places
where it was
difficult to hear each other
over the wind,
over the waves.
I took us to places where it was
difficult to see each other,
hands wiping
the hair and the mist
from our faces.
I read a review of one place
so close to the shore that the
“waves were too loud
for conversation.”
Take us
to that place.
Where we can’t speak
without being
interrupted
by the weather.
Where we can’t speak
of anything more
than what we gather at our feet –
agates and abandoned shells
of moon snails,
small stones with faces.
Line them up along a crooked
piece of driftwood.
Then walk out along the shore,
to scan the water for creatures,
pointing to the faintest clearing
in the clouds,
over the the Olympics.
~ Megan M. Codera
