I wasn’t thinking about the moon
up there, waiting for the day-old clouds
to tire of blocking her view of the ocean.
I wasn’t wondering why the seagulls
were standing still instead of flying,
forming feathered phalanxes
as they stared out in the general direction
since anyone had offered them a French fry.
I didn’t notice the way the mist
laughing as it undid any order
I’d imposed upon my hair.
The clouds thickened like tension
but the gulls stood their ground –
or perhaps they were too lost in thought
I didn’t consider how damp sand
would cling to my clearance-rack boots
I just let the salt settle on my skin
and hoped confidence was something
that could be contracted –
something that would leak from your lips
and seep through my layer of peppermint chap stick
soaking the tip of my tongue