Its that stretch of Huntington Beach
all sand and palm trees  

You put on Jackson brown
I lean in smiling…turn it up

You roll the windows down
I make wind hills with my hand

It’s a late summer sun-golden
we are happy

Instinctively I reach for you
but you are looking away…singing

I remember then
you are not mine to touch

I lean back into the light  
dancing…eyes closed
and remind myself

This is enough.