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1
White pants flirt with foam,
her face lifted to the sun-silvered surf, arms raised to the heavens
to bless the day, a prayer for this sacred moment.
2
Wiry cat of a girl, squealing when the waves gush in to grab
her ankles. She climbs the sturdy rope of her daddy, anchored in the sand, deep and steady.
3
He, burly, gray tufts on chest, shoulders, back,
with the square stance of an old soldier, never quite at ease.
She, slight, sharp bones and bottomless eyes, Vietnam never quite in the past.
Their common language the way they hold hands and lean into the wind.
4
My bare feet close in on the marks
they leave behind in the wet sand.
I am obsessed with the contrast: wider, longer, deeper,
as if I must judge the worth of every footprint ahead of mine
until I note how my footprints embrace theirs, sink into them,
become them.
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