That familiar foam
Spits
Tumbles
Bubbling up
Whooshes
When we were young
When I am old
Gritty feet
Salty nose
Bluest blue
But that’s not all
Some murky green too
Gulls overhead
Weeds down below
Watch for the flash
As the sun dips low

Words that I hear in my head
Words that I roll across my tongue
Words that I think about late into the evening

Your worn, dry face with crow’s feet and the
Deepest lines etched in your forehead like a
Curved, carved segment of stone that was
Eroded by too much wind and sun without
Sunscreen when you should have
Smeared it on to protect your
Skin that’s now showing an age that
Doesn’t match mine.

I want to write about her
Brown hair curves in to meet under a soft chin
Wide, dark eyes pierce with calculated curiosity
A million and one half emotions take shape

They share the same intensity in their eyes
The same broad nose and wide mouthed smile
Sometimes aloof or unapologetically direct
I find myself in an undefined middleground  

I want to write about her
A tempest that springs up on an otherwise calm day
Demanding immediate attention
While I stand waiting on a silent shore

I walk a smudged black line
Hands out, exposed and uncertain
Palms tender and timid in their exploration  
As if to navigate a safe path forward

I want to write about her
The disquieting distance between us
A bruised space that beckons
For the company of two strangers