Your body eased away by the salt and silt of the ocean.
I am at the Pacific again.
Holding the mist in my palms is like holding a ghost.
Here we tried to burn the sand. Here we wrote letters
to the shallows in a language made of stone.
And here we sprawled like a scattering of opal and tourmaline.
You are becoming a memory that I visit like a grave
that I drop myself into.
You are a cube of sugar that I break with my teeth again and again.
The coast has become your body lying on its side
each wave slipping forward saying