Stranded in Washington DC

You have gone to the beach again without me,

dragged toes in the sand, left traces of you,

marks the tide will wash away, patterns 

sketched of a whim, likely to last

until sounds of canine mischief

in the waves or the rocks

draw you back into the reverie 

of other troubles, or the salty smell 

seaweed prompts, faint thoughts of places 

where you should be now, or should be later.

I should be there with you, filtering the krill,

togetherness, nourishment in those little 

things that tangle us into slick knots, 

bladder wrack, tossed on shores, 

slippery as precious moments, 

gathered like diverse shells,

to be stored in glass containers, 

with only you and I ever knowing 

the truth and their real significance,

in the sands of our created memories.

But I am thousands of miles away,

waiting for cherry trees to blossom

announcing Spring. I should be listening 

for the cuckoo wind, wild storms from the south, 

to lift those tuneful imposters to mountain nests,

or smelling the heady scent of whitethorn

on islands, and watching for Mayflies

speckling the Corrib with trout rising

out of depths to molest the sky,

lifting cold heads momentarily.

You have gone to the beach again without me

Soon, soon, I will be there, to go with you.