Night Picnic

“Night Picnic”


The beach at night is bright with half-light, moonlit sand dunes

waving to winking stars—fires stilled in a balance of pushing and pulling winds—

and the sparkling smiles of the black and blue crashing waves.


We add our tealights, flickering behind the folded wings of our clothed torsos

and wave-wet legs, spilling hot wax all over the towel in a fit of wind and tumbling.

The night’s brightness licks up, high with the oxygen hit of your laughter.


We roll up tealights, tealeaves, waxy blanket, sopping cuffs,

and swim out in the blue-green ocean of my bed, farther and farther.

How are we going to get back? we ask one another, soaking and spent.


We’re days at sea before we realize time lies down here,

spreads herself like a happy cat across the entire sea

where you stretch out into me.


Paw in paw, we lay together in her silver light.

Diving into darkness, we grow unbearably bright.

Pulsing now, gently lapping, not sleeping—only napping.