Driving over the causeway we count the egrets stalking 
the marshes. Should the surprising tally anticipate 
the traffic we are bound to hit, must we despair? 
My sandal came apart in Pop-Pop’s garden late 
this morning. I guess I have to buy another pair. 
The radio is on and everyone is talking. 

I glimpsed the bay, the diving loon, through misted glass, 
and reassured lowered my head again, furling 
my weight in the salt-coarse sheet. Summer’s young, invite her 
at your leisure–so I told myself, so early 
and with sleep returning, pulling the sheet tighter, 
wishing we could stay longer, would that moment last.