And a second time—

(or a third or fourth, I have lost track of the times
your eyes look at me just so with the half-shadows and
your frame half-turned, as if to offer me a look at
places that I've never been)

And a second time we were walking
Down that same beach, except now the sky was not so unremarkable and
A boy was falling into the water (though we did not say a thing and
You pulled down into the sand and said: Isn't it so nice, isn't it so nice just right now?)
The sand does not even bruise me when I fall in heart-first, and I am
Carefully around your thoughts regarding architecture and
Dead stars.

Objectively, I can say that she was still too young too young—


Sleeping, barely touching, March is quiet in between the other months.