YET OTHER WATERS
for Bobette

You could not step twice in the same rivers;
for others and yet other waters...
--Heraclitus

With sand to shake form damp towels;
to work out of our shoes on the porch
step, turning them upside down;

to wash out hair and scalp, the softest
folds of skin; and later to fall
from the novel, its cover slightly

curled from too much sun, and there
on the desk, not to read, but to find
not gook reason to continue, seeing each

grain, each rounded edge and prismatic
center, a kaleidoscope of grit to be swept
clean and carried off... but then I can't

stop recalling: pulling her close, wet
and naked, chilled by the tidal wind,
nipples puckered, the curve of her spine

drifted with sand, and the waves breaking,
breaking...Is this what
Heraclitus meant, that we could not

step into the same body twice, whether
it is a river, ourselves, or another,
that we are not just the same slipping

away, but he sand we walk over
and carry with us, caught in our cuffs
and shoes, is forever changed,

and changes us, though love may cling
like each grain late in the day
on dunes still leaning against a winded sea.