it’s something mundane but im-
possible not to miss
never the vast neverending or the
reflection in your so-pretty-eyes

not how it’s purple in the sundown
or the time you kept your feet dry
waving from his shoulders in the ebbtide

it isn’t the round he gallant-
ly orders for the two of you
or his singing voice
the salty never-gone stillness
in your eyelashes

it’s something mundane—
the no-memory but infinite patience
the time he touched your too-warm forehead
and when the water rose how he
kept you off the shore
—don’t forget that