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.