By Richard Alan Bunch

Sunshafts flicker through a caravan
of cumuli.

Steady surf whomps and hisses
against the rocks
where mute armies of seabirds rest.

Looking up, spume-blasts shoot
through the skyline--
a brief wilderness of snow.

As you sleep, I entertain this new relation,
a rebirth in mid-sentence,
two in the incomparable
company of one.

You encircle me:
family-veins rooted all the way
through the invisible.

Today near the river's mouth
where sand itches
to meet the sea
we remember only yesterday
this wedding.

I'll cherish the sun-veins and delectable
joy in your looks long after
my bones are mountains
and salt sweetens the sea.

(for Rita)

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