Wind and heat and wing on summer sand
we wade and splash like little ones
not like the eighty-somethings we are
we slather sunscreen
and lie on the worn beach towels
we bought long ago in Watson Lake
a white spot
gulls shriek and dive
fight over French fries
on my lung
but I stopped long ago
my fingers no longer searching
reaching in pocket or purse
the doctor said so sorry
his office smelled of Lysol and loss
the memory returns ugly, unbidden
and grief drills a hole
in the summer sand
