You are hoping the rain will stop, as we wonder ideally across the sand dunes

a cliff to climb, a sea to swim in, a beach to build sand castles

and claim with a flag.

I have stopped hoping for it.

I surrender to the summer rain splashing my shoes,

to the sky that darkens through the lens of my camera

a macro shot of a crab, pinched and poised to

attack.

we think in lumps of time, all of us. Great lumps of time

defined by birthdays and religion.

Winter whispers in our ears, a whiff of cinnamon

in the air.

and though you hope to hold it back, with your fingers in the dam

I tell you, again, that we are not ruled by

the sea