Far Away From Together

We always waded out
into the ocean together.
I wanted to watch
the way you crest
the waves, extending
one arm up and over,
letting the weight
of the sea carry
the rest of you
over the top,
above the sandy floor,
then seemingly over
the Pacific rim.

But then, one day,
you drifted out to sea
captured in your own
sense of a world
apart from mine,
caught in tides
and currents
somewhere far away
from together,
you left me
to rise and fall
with the swells,
my feet barely touching
the sand.

I turned my face
to the dry land,
to see familiar children
with their fathers
carrying folded orange
and yellow umbrellas
up the zig-zag paths
along the cliffs
of Santa Monica.
I could only think
of the possibilities
of land and the
solitary work
of the earth:

to wait with a lonely
while perhaps
the sun and moon
high above
with time and tide
by chance
might pull you
back again.

Don Cadwallader

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