It’s illegal I’m told.
the loop along Niagara Street’s cul-de-sac
our procession alongside the fire lane
wind blow in from the west pushing the waves
broke over the end of the pier.
crunched between sandals and concrete
we approached the locked gates
watched as waves destroyed our plans.
instantly, the waves weakened
a lifeguard came, unlocking the gates
pools of people to flock onto the pier
that he was unlocking memories
used to live here by these tide pools
seaweed bubbles with toes
below the cliffs where cars parked, under stars
and showering in public
eggs over fire and eating breakfast on the pier.
doesn’t exist on the pier
isn’t linear like the length of the boardwalk
fluid and flows like waves
smell of salt rose up from the tide pool below
owned the air.
we appeared at the center of the pier, we lingered
as the last lagging relative approached
stream of people dissolved and the north tip of the T was ours
our Pacific pulsing with life.
brother opened the urn
wind stopped and it was clear that our ocean approved
he leaned far over the edge, arms outstretched, urn upside down
death’s soot into the mouth of life
as a wave swallowed our blood.
water fell from my face as I meandered away
in tears when I saw three dolphins jump up and dive
northwest with the tide
every fragile faith
place in You.