you are here because
you come and go.
like a tide pool, she said.
the waterbottles have gone warm
and you don’t mind.
by the ocean you already understand
that you cannot know everything.
there will always be people
who decorate sidewalks
in a sleepy slaughter,
stepping on berries
they don’t even know
the name of.

and you remember that program
you stopped on while she was out
fetching the mail. the camera locked on
to people painting their bodies
with the seeds of fruit.

the moon and your candles,
that night.
washing you both
in a pineapple glow.

you are here because
you come and go.
it must hurt, to have a body
nineteen years young, she said.
crawl out of the cave
and listen closely, now.
the ghosts on the shore
are here to tell you
a sad thing.

love is no longer
the summer solstice
you dreamt of once.