Say it was just that beautiful,
even if it’s not true. Say
the shoreline could break
a man’s heart, and did too—
more than once—say the men
braided their sorrows like
bluegrass, made coronets
of them and danced barefoot
in the low water with their pants
rolled up above their knees.
Speaking of blue things,
everything’s muted this time
of day, dulled a little, a little
less brilliant; imagine it
anyhow. Say the attendance
counts just as much
as the capture. It is already done.
The sand is emptying, browned.
Who’s that there, writing his name
with the end of a stick? Say
we will never be back here
again. And the dull, dull water,
that it’s still there once
the dusk obscures it.
I have loved you desperately
all this time.