By Renee Agatep

I used to find your face, 23
on every beach in Jacksonville, I’ve seen 
you in Tampa Bay, and once
in Tarpon Springs I craned my neck
from my beach towel, 
in the shadow
of my husband, a great southern
live oak, 
from where I live in the hollow 

I saw you today
in the Bay of Funchal 
4000 miles from where I left you
now just 100 meters
off the discordant coastline
commanding a windsail
facing the mast, uphauling the sail 

this is how we remain:  
you in the immortal surf  
and me, evergreen, a scion
breaking and breaking again  

This poem originally appeared in Volume 14, Issue 2 of San Pedro River Review.

Photo by Adrian Dascal on Unsplash


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