John Sarvay - Chesapeake

This morning the end of summer
washed around my ankles.

From the shifting shoreline
I had collected a small pile of tumbled
glass, smoothed by the surf.

As the sun broke through the cranberry sky,
I realized that there are times I'd prefer
not to dig my toes so deep into the sand
while you are sleeping nearby.

The gulls told me that dawn already
was hot against my face.

I clutched the colored shards.
Dew washed sand from my feet;
aroused, I hoped to wake you.

As salt spray moistened my return,
I considered you curled asleep with
sandy feet, with sun-touched hair and tousled.
Something in me soared.

It lifted sharply away at the slam of the door.
On the soft pine floor I could see just how
tightly I had held the fragments,
and across the room our empty bed.

John Sarvay

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/chesapeake/