Your touch is summer. Our knowing silences
Are much like murmurs of rolling, far-off seas.
We see the world in each other’s sunglasses.
I feel sand, impatient between my toes,
Tactility to the touch: even our sky
Is an impossible, imaginary blue.
Do you see too the vastness of the bay
Waiting there, a little way below?
Every day is our first, in a foreign
Land, saved preciously for ourselves,
Younger than we ever remember being,
As fresh as water, and as impetuous:
And wherever we go I picture us
As two boys, racing headlong for the waves.
For Blair. Not long now until the beach, my darling. Not long now.