Out in the distance a seagull dives in slow-motion, only to pick up a splash. The roar of a fishing trawler rings in the setting sun and the surf retreats under my feet, taking with it a handful of the ground I stand on. I notice you the moment I step on the beach. Immersed in the fading horizon, a permanent fixture of this beach, like the rough-hewn boulders or the swaying palm trees.
When you look at me, I feign interest in the red crabs that scamper back into their holes the moment one steps in their direction. You adjust the strap of your bikini.
Later, despite the gold wedding band on your finger, we talk deep into the night. Under the watchful gaze of the bedside lamp, our bodies spent and sweaty, you quote Rumi: 'Beyond the ideas of right and wrong, there is a field. I will meet you there.'
I end up believing you.
bonfire moon . . .
connecting the ends of