I saw her facedown in the water.
Maybe it was just my perspective.
She could have been bobbing
for something indistinguishable
below the surface
of who she appeared to me to be.
It could have been
a festive environment
all around her.
I only had a small frame
of reference,
her mouth close to the phone,
tidbits of background noise,
and the length
of her attention span,
to work with.
Her traveling in Santa Monica,
my overseeing by cell,
and there is so much there
to see these days!
Life on the promenade,
memories
of the farmer’s market,
all those old men
having tidy days
in the warm sun
but obviously freezing
their ass off
outdoors at night,
the ocean view,
Sunday brunch by the beach
and an ocean horizon line
every day, lying in wait.
Well so much for her
finding an environment
commensurate with
her childhood memories
both longed for
and tantalizingly revisited,
she would privately say . . .
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