The Blue Beach
These early April rains mock memory— the photograph of two women in bathing suits standing on a beach pocked with footprints leading to the sea where two heads, all face and dark hair, bob north of a man in black striding behind another in jeans. The timer is set. We laugh into the unmanned camera eye that misses five figures in long brown coats and white scarves stepping into the Mediterranean. No one shivers in this late winter sun. Palm fronds sticking straight up check the direction of a wind weaker than the day’s current suspended like the cold season.
Swimming to Syria 25
