Our perfect moments

Could have happened anywhere

But they are frozen

In the cold harbour waters.

In the ever-stormy sky

And the salty scent of the ocean,

Kelp washed up like a mystery on the shore.

In the grey cloud cover that, when it lifted

Had the whole town chipper

Off their faces on sunshine.

Lilting cobblestone streets,

And that backwards little cafe with two red doors

Our memory is in sunrises spent on the docks,

Listening to seagulls

And the jangling of masts.

Steam would rise from twin black mugs

Mingling with the morning fog

As we watched harbor seals frolic

Your fingers seemed paler

Wrapped around the ceramic for warmth.

Mornings had the kind of cold that invigorated

Small waves robbing us of our names written in the sand

Our moments are kept in the pine-grove across the lake

Beads of sap

Like frozen dews on the cones

In riddles,

Your scribbled handwriting on coffeehouse napkins.

It will always be ours ---

That curious village by the seaside

Where evenings on the beach felt like forever

Sunsets were longer there

Have you kept our memories?

Or are they washed away

Footprints, after the tide.