Two Umbrellas

Unoccupied ecru beach,
not a shell, not a sound
beyond the hidden unfurling
of an almost still tide.

The blue unblinking sky
stares at almost nothing
cresting
onto that silent, unshelled
shore.

Two Umbrellas stand ready, billowed by
a breath between breaths,
leaving one combined shadow
pointing to
presumption.

No blanket beneath,
no empty water bottles,
no residue lotion,
just....

Just...

Always, within a scene not seen,
within sounds not heard,
nor thoughts displayed
by flash of eyes
and lift of brow,
by lips upturned
in corner quirks
and foreheads duned
in upward jerks,

nor by obvious confections
of established affections
and common derelictions,
but by chemical, atomical,
physical, microbiological
experiences
of miracles not seen...

always, we lay beneath these two umbrellas,
totally
beneath the unmarked sky
and unheard sounds of the sea,
totally
beneath the ghostly wings
of gulls screeching for
ghostly inhabitants
of unfound shells,
totally
within the soft and sandy enclaves
of an eternal moment,
of the single truth,
of love,
of full love,
of that which fills
and billows
and makes alive.

Can you see us laying there
under our umbrellas,
can you see our
love?

Bruce V. Baron
Seeker
February 14, 2005