September 1, 2026

the first of September
for S.

The last miles to the airport were the sweetest, and hardest.
I wanted to tell you I’d found an old clay pipe at the cove after all,
offer it just as we were pulling up to Departures.

Meanwhile, a whale had been circling the bay. Evenings,
we took to our perch at the dock, then waited. Then yesterday, right
at dusk, a sighting beyond the mooring field. A dark shape
arcing briefly over the waves. Your face, a galaxy of delight.

Right now, I’m not thinking about clay pipes or whales or airports, or
how terribly brief everything is, but your eyes wide as planets and you—
the sun, the sun, the sun.