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April 2017, vol 13 no 1

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Adelaide B. Shaw

At the Beach


The wind picks up. We sit closer, wrap a blanket across our shoulders. Enough hot coffee in the thermos for a half cup each. His hand finds mine. I keep my eyes looking ahead to the horizon where ocean meets sky. Pink, rose, mauve, peach. Mustn't blink or turn away. Mustn't look into his eyes; I'll miss the sunset. I'll miss what we came for. Mustn't…

slow to star shine
sloshing waves bring the tide
and a warning


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