Augusta

From the water, light shatters on the sand.

At dusk the clouds are broken

And the rhythmic rush of salty swell

Threatens, playfully.

 

You were standing with your phone.

Endeavouring to capture this scene.

Facing into the disappearing sun;

I sat back, with sandy toes.

 

It won’t work, unlike the photos from before,

Which are now stashed in a far corner of the attic.

Floral boxes full of static, toothless smiles,

That smell faintly of tobacco and peppermint.

 

Then, I saw you stumble momentarily.

The saline wind whipped about your face

And I pulled my scarf about my throat.

Even though it was still warm out.

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