It often is a stormy beach when time to dream
has us meet and walk the damp, bright sands.
The winds blows our hair to bring a blush
to tales of conquests past and near.
The foaming waves catch our laughter like
the seabirds dipping wings
as our steps press their memories and weight
deep into the beach's murmuring songs.
Friends used to the expanse of oceans and time
the smooth light in your amber eyes calms
the green darkness in mine.
Our words swim with the tides, with
ease and grace, the horizon the only line
that defines the limits of our reach and dance.
The moon above a quiet witness to wishes
whispered past the gathering clouds.
Trudi Ralston.
January 4th, 2016.
For Catherine Bouchacourt, and our friendship
that celebrates its 32nd year this summer.
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