The moon is a soft blue
colored gem, floating somewhere
above all of the worries and concerns
that fill, day in and day out,
the ever waking, eating, sleeping
hours of our lives.

It's quiet blue light reflects off the water,
mirroring it's hidden world without
complication on the now
molten lead waves as they crash
onto the half sand half pebble
beach on which they stand.

There are shouts in the distance.
A bonfire, beer wrapped in aluminum
and the company of people they
will meet only once and then never again.
Stories they will share,
no great secrets, but minor insights and
a shared sense of wonder.

Were you here, he would sing to you.
A song so wonderful and sad that
you would be as whales are. Communicating
in somber notes and ancient melodies.
The weigh of the song would pour tears
onto your pale white skin.
You would love him then,
as you had loved no other before.

As the waves fall on the hard and calloused
skin of his feet and knees sending cold shivers
up his body, he watches as the full moon
describes his world as a dream.
He marvels at the smells of salt water and the
slow rhythm of waves and beach as they meet
again and again throughout eternity.
Later he will be at the bonfire.

He will share stories that mean nothing
he will drink and dance, but he will not sing.
He will miss you. Wish you could see
what he does.
How can it ever be the same?