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

moth wings

and wild rose-petals

into our faces,

your hair still sticky from salt-water swim.

We have fed well; the whole sunlit afternoon

absorbed:    thrushes’

winter wrens’ cascades

ripe dewberries

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

with fireflies

like random thoughts

and we, staggering in tandem, are home.