by Allyson Hoffman
That day we were gray
under the shadows
of seagull wings. I watched 
the curved feathers cross 
your face over and back, 
some strokes swooping,
some small, as if erasing
pieces of you: an eyebrow
a dimple
your bottom lip.
We should have stayed
there under the sky
until we were gone,
carried away by lake 
water or buried
under sand. 
We should have stayed 
& become legends, too, 
our bodies still 
as the dune grasses
moving only for the wind.