Scribblings

Do you remember the summer
we walked the San Juan beach? You fished from the rocks.
I sat on a grassy point, watching boats, reading mysteries.
Once I turned an old plank over, saw a black and yellow snake
curled in sleep. My scream brought you running,
thinking, you later said, I had found a body washed up on the rocks.
I called you my rescuer. We laughed and slept that night,
brave in each others arms. I curled tight as that snake,
warmed by your tenderness.

Now, I wake each night across the city
far from your voice, your laughter, and your love.