The first time our feet sunk into clammy sand paws at belle isle

With seaweed murmuring across driftpools

Mist from spring soaked grass and too brisk river air puncturing its way through fabric to palely outlined shoulders

Sun frozen at high noon

Fog draped over rays

A spot of mud on the back of my shin

Spat up from the mopey ground and clung to the skin

As if to say, take me with you