Elisa A. Garza: Winter Beach

Padre Island

A man and a woman walk the sand 
only they and the gulls, 
the sky four shades of blue, 
horizon a white mist. 
They stand in surf 
under a rounding moon 
dull as an antique coin, 
sand sinking under their feet. 
If this was a romance, 
they would walk holding hands, 
then watch green waves collapse 
into smooth brown planes of glass. 
He would stand behind her 
and she would lean on him 
while the wind touched 
his face with her hair. 
If they were strangers, 
they would have walked 
from opposite directions, 
each stopping to watch 
the cawing gulls swoop, 
wind-jerked, over red guts, 
fight over silver heads 
left by a fisherman. 
If they crossed their arms 
into Xs tight and hard as pretzels, 
eyes closed to the gulls, to the blues 
and browns and whites of this scene, 
the wind would say good-bye 
for them, their mouths and ears 
closed to this beach, to each other. 
Neither knows how it is supposed to go.

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