I am not
prepared
to look at the place
you left your shoes
(I see them at night, behind
my shuttered eyelids, I picture
them
side by side, one laid over sideways
discarded with the laces
struggling to catch up)
I have a towel, here
I have hot coffee
you can have my robe.
The waves creep in and I know it’s not the ocean
yet
you never made it there, and still
-and still.