by Jonathan Cardew

We were in water, swimming circles around the boats.

This is a holiday, you said.

This is perfect, I said.

The sky darkened. On the beach, we put clams on the fire, savored their slipperiness on the tips of our tongues. We stared at the dance of flames, kissed over flashlight, our conjoined faces a cliff face of shadow and light.

Grey leaked into blue.

By dusk, we were a photograph.