A WAVE CLAIMED HIM
Six o’clock on a Sunday morning
as the sun rises and peaks out
of the sea – I stand and move
the shade; time to leave.
I must see him -
Quietly I slide the screen door
open to walk along the shore
It is dawn -
those who feel freedom - a
morning on a beach - run across
sand, or walk peacefully; most
nod and say hello.
It is as if this covering of moisture
liberates me, sand between my
toes – tickles – I wiggle them.
Now, I see him – his dark hair,
perfect body - his leg’s taking
giant steps. He continues, appears
to be leaping; his leg’s extend as
he jogs . . . further, and further.
I believe it was this momentary
glance in my direction. He may
be turning from the sun. . .
How could he possibly may see me
One more glance – one more.
He leans forward, as if to bend
and find a sea shell, like the
lady carrying her plastic bag
to bring shells home, then toss
them into the trash.
I see a white band of skin, below
his waist where sun has not
changed him; it excites me -
I reach the sandbar, and his body
blends with earth - a wave
Nancy Duci Denofio
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