here we are, honey
we’re in westfield again
where the wind mercilessly
fills us with bark, with salt.

here, the ice stabs and bruises
my digging fingers unearthing
the lake’s collection of trinkets.
she’s waited since last february,
pleading that i come find them.
they’re aching to be seen.

she’d forgotten this one,
this teeny terracotta
offered up who knows when.
my indigo cutie, one of her favorites.
she’s been searching fiercely.
i throw that one back to her
for safekeeping.

i’m coming back inside to you, baby
wait for me
keep warm
i want to feel it
i know you know it, too
we’ve loved here before.