On Tanner Beach
On Tanner Beach,
wind sculpted a
thousand wavelets.
For each, the moon
etched a thin black
line. Boulders blazed
like whales breaching.
A driftlog lolled,
an upturned hull.
We shed our clothes
and lay down side
by side. Sand beat
against my flank
from heel to head.
“It hurts!” I howled.
It scoured our
bellies—you laughed.
“It tickles!”—then
filtered down along-
side you in a ridge
that held your shape:
toes, thigh, hip, breast.
We grasped hands,
felt cleansed.