The café on the shore
Off-season, I can stay all afternoon,
and brings another pot of tea.
My table: at the window to the sea.
The milk jug never matches,
and the spoon
is meant for eggs. She doesn't know.
be closing I suppose:
the sky, the sea
The window mirrors me,
A ghost that haunts the beach. -- One afternoon,
Off season, long before the shore café:
We raced the waves and chased the gulls, and drew
an arrowed heart,
At least, until high tide today,
But I, an unconvinced Canute,
Return, off-season, still to guard our shore.