in a tiny rivulet,
small enough that a child diverted part of it,
digging a canal with a spoon
to add interest to sand castle,
stepping back and forth across the stream
as she worked.
A young man stared out at the water
the last time he had seen her,
coming back from the beach
and grew sad in his memories,
although he would not tell me this until later.
At the time,
I thought he was just lost in the scene.
I looked at the lighthouse up on the cliff,
and dreamed dreams
of living close to ocean, beach and mountain,
I would return to the desert,
and live there, content.
After awhile, my husband stood up,
and said, “Let’s go eat,”
and we left.
But I still think of it once in a while,
and dream of damp sand
between my toes
and how the water lapped my feet.