The Allure of Tides by Doug Bond

At the north edge of
open skied spaces,
stands a blue eyed woman
hard and distant as snow
feeling for the warmth,
of an unflustered hand.

A stranger who enthralls
in her short waisted
red coat saying it’s absurd
that anything of ours might
go still.

Each unbuckled strap
brings an empty wash
of sandy water filling
where once we stood
holding back the rain.

Knowing loss, my heart
does what it pleases, lifts
her up into starfish
covered pools,
almost as unreachable
as over-written
intimacies.

Still, the net of it all
is nothing, just a
turn of a season, one
in exchange for another

traceless except for
the sound of sun washed
oyster shells rustling
under the firmer footfalls
of lovers,

holding themselves
tightly to the pearl.