We laugh as if we were skinny-dipping,
stealing the show among the noisinesses of Myrtle Beach.
Salt deaf in this goddess filled place
where minuscule shoots of Venus fly traps grow
and we run to tie strings on June bugs.

We�re both good girls playing at being bad,
all the time knowing better,
waking from wild-eyed dreams
with tired legs inept at faraway flight.

Ocean light sprinkles salt-clean on schools.
Little fishes tilt their gills, glitter
flaking scales toward sun, moon
and departing turns soft as sand.

Imagine us through binoculars,
a picture of color so true, every prism
it passes through melts.

Frail seafoam breath turns violet-pink
against the darkening crowd.
Quiet injury is feeling,
too soon, too soon a child leaving.

I can�t accept her swimming alone
toward the next tidal break,
the complications
of saying goodbye.
Invisibly, I ask for hush, hush.

I�ve forgotten how to feel achievement,
how wonderful youth can be,
the pure color of joy
which passes through muscle
and raises you up.
Two hearts beating,
about to exist and about not
to exist much like faith.

But don�t look to close �
My retinas have become floodgates,
living on the outskirts of newly formed foam
and we�re still good girls playing at being bad,
all the time knowing better.

We only need the ground to land on.



�2005 by Sarah Wilson