You find your arm high around my waist.
I heave mine across your shoulder.
We lean, teetering on our uneven heights
into each other, the flashlight boggling.
The night wind blows balsam fragrance
and wild rose-petals
into our faces,
your hair still sticky from salt-water swim.
We have fed well; the whole sunlit afternoon
winter wrens’ cascades
and northwest clouds dark rippling the bay.
You stood, beribboned with kelp, seaweed and flotsam,
the short waves bowling you sideways
your flipper lost for hours,
three quarters seal,
one, sumi wrestler.
Meadows with still sweet hay are filling
like random thoughts
and we, staggering in tandem, are home.