across this pavement
towards you.
            The tide drags us
out before it flows back
into the bay         the fullness
between distant cliffs.
Cut of water carving
islands out of rock
        your body
its weight beside me
in sheets. Coffee in paper
cups and the whistling
that leaves my lips
in the morning as I bike
past the park—its flatness
under the dogs
and children. Coffee
in paper cups. Sunday
and God is wondering
where we are. Hoping
we have figured it all out
by tomorrow when he
opens his eyes, lets
thunder fall out of his mouth like
laughter.