Golden Shovel Between the Islands

I know that I don’t have to tell you
about the joy of us in that moment. Can
you believe that we were out there, feel-
ing our way through the salt and sun like it
was our birthright, because it was. Written in
the books, the texts we’d all left behind, all the
things that weighed us down in the streets,

meaningless now as two Black men hoisted sail & we shone. On 
deck basking in a sun that reflected our glory. On a
sudden whim, I said: show me how to do this one day
and you said yes, without hesitation, your face split wide open like
ripened mango. In an instant, I knew that I always wanted this:
wind-drifting on a path towards the horizon, surrounded by the
deep brown of you – the warmth of you. All of us bathed in summer heat.

I don’t know how to tell you that time stopped that day. I tried to
Feel my way through time, through the wind and the rocking, it was
Like fingers through cellophane, pushing me back into the present.
Summer stretched on forever for us across that water. I asked her if 

She agreed, but she was too busy watching you, sun-squinting and
Feel-ing heartful as you laughed at our joy. Unbound, it seemed
Like we were drifting along for hours, but I knew the shining 
Summer would end because all moments are made to pass,

This is just the nature of time, joy or no joy. It always
Feels as if I’m chasing your shadow these days.
Like I’m watching you shorten as the day goes on. 
Summer taught me lessons on impermanence. 

At the fire that night, I struggled to piece together the words I
had been sheltering in my sternum for you. I am stuck here now, feel- 
ing my way through unbroken waves of grief. Fashioning your like- 
ness in the silence after the last text I sent you that summer.