The sun set over the Hamptons that night, A golden egg cracked into the ocean, We napped on the beach. Goose bumps. Wrapped tight, Warm blanket. Waves. Shared ear buds. She sang solely for us sitting so comfortably on the precipice of forty. If only we had known this would be the best day, we could have begged the dripping sun to stay afloat but then we would have always known the sun will never rise as high or shine as brightly as it did. Each day a slow erosion of the New York coastline, degradation of the mind. Please remember— even when I don't—our summer in September.
I saw the first tree, I was in, Into the woods, I could hear him, Coming behind me, I could hear dad say, I'm going to catch you, He caught me that day, And the next, And the next, Until he was not there, Until he was no more than a memory