Go.
You urged me.
It was an absurdity. Had he seen you leave the cafe last night with the girl? Swarthy in white gauze with bare feet and unshaved armpits, the kind of girl that makes you swoon. She was wearing the delicate chain you secured to her ankle. Was I being played? That first day I noticed his faded corduroys, the color of waves and seaweed. He sat alone at the far edge of the terrace sipping coffee, a newcomer with an aura of having been on this island forever. We speculated. I thought he might be returning after a long time, perhaps a widower searching for directions in the past. You pipe-dreamed that he owned a yacht, that he would invite us aboard for a week of island hopping. You, the positivist, the one most likely to make things real tended to be the better guesser. People wanted to be near you, as did I.
He asked about you. He took me below to the cabin and handed me a shimmering dress. Put it on. A small table on the deck was set with a fine linen cloth, its edges lifting in a subtle breeze. His silhouette against the silver sea lit a candle. I want to see you. My figure in sheer silk exposed by slanting fire from the setting sun. We ate buttered sole. We sipped cognac. His lips were slender and taut and the fine lines at the corner of his eyes grew misty with tenderness. I submitted each detail to memory.
the silver sea
you tell me
you’re falling in love
it might mean
i’m not for you
in that way
you could do so much better
i’ve always known
i still love you and what we are
i give you a way
an eternal horizon
The next afternoon while we fucked you recounted the dampness, the odors, the slime, the crevices and the screams of the earth. Later I described to you the colors of the sun refracted in crystalline glass.
You were the same person.