I can no longer
Come here
And not think
Of you,
Dancing in the sand,
Around a may pole
Even though
It was November
Not may,
A nymph,
A sprite,
Born out of
The incoming waves
The need to move
In order to be moved,
To celebrate
A private moment
With private people
In order to
Celebrate yourself,
The pole, the sand,
The waves,
All part of this
Ethereal dance
You are destined
To perform
As if dictated by
The gods, long ago,
Who foresaw this place
This time, and you,
And knew if I saw it
I could feel the pangs
Again
Of what once was,
What ceased to be,
What never was,
I can no longer come here
And be free of your spirit,
Layon on the white caps,
That crush against
The gray stones
And pale sand,
Your foot prints
There, then not there,
Replaced my mine
As I ache to follow.
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