we were lying close
bundled from the wind
your eyes looking at me
big and wonderful

your look reached inside
seeming to ask
"where have you been?"
i was too startled
to answer at the moment

i guess i could say
i had been grocery shopping
spending much, getting nothing
large,  perishable, expensive nothing

my arms still carried the heavy bundles
large, empty, heavy bundles
my hands were so full
i, i couldn't open the door

but when i saw
ramon alcolea's pastels
and stations of the heart
and spoke with david, son of jesse
st. francis of provincetown
with my heart in my palm
staring at me
i realized suddenly
what i should
should have wanted to do
 if my heart had not been
nursing recent sorrows

as i sit and write
thinking of all my past moments
none other draws the desire
to return and reenact it differently:

to open my spirit and soul
and pour any sadness and pain
into the sand to disappear forever

to see that restful, lovely look again
to taste the salt on your lips
to hear your warm breath
and feel your heart beating
keeping time with the pounding waves
and the rhythm of the rain