Sketch

You threatened to forget me. Water brimming beachside. Our beach. What if malignant waves washed delicate skin. Skeleton skin. On Catalina Island we learned to mourn. Taught ourselves reflection in the sideways mirror carved into the shape of a heart. It was easy to see history. Film stories, glamor, flair. Your soft young hair. I memorized where missing roads might be. We walked up slim stone stairs. Easy to fade into our sleep. Two men at the next table convened at the edge of life's end reminded us how we came to be there. I took a card from one I almost kept. Where was the fog. We checked prices, what if we decided to come here and live. I could taste fresh fish. Sourdough. Skiff we might ride. There is only morning here.