We had coffee last Wednesday.
She took hers black,
like her blouse, its buttons,
right-wrist bangles,
but not her earrings.
They were basil, wrapped
in a blue pool liner,
and glazed with July-sky.

The painstakingly swept seven-
o'clock tile floor was a February
beach by one: beige coast cloaked
by footstep salt dance mats,
and slush like snow cones
tossed on the boardwalk.