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Brick Path by the Sea
by Michael Escoubas

The sea is the same irrepressible blue
as before
the laundry, white as ghosts, still snaps in the wind
like before
and the geraniums and wisteria bloom with eternal sheen
as they did then—
if I listen carefully
your heels click like silver taps
on the bricks
your yellow dress shifts gracefully
in the wind
I see your shadow moving in the house behind
the curtain—
as I walk the red brick path toward the shore
it is you
who comes to me, who visits me
in stillness
your eyes lock into mine, but do not answer why
at the most inopportune moment in time … you
had to go.

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