Back from La Jolla

Things have been different

since we got back from La Jolla,

where I drowned in your arms

and in the ocean, too. 

Where I swallowed so much salt water

the paramedics thought I was a fish,

where we went surfing,

when we didn’t even know how to swim.

Things have been different

since we got back from La Jolla,

because they put up signs and lifeguard towers,

warning people not to trace our footsteps in the sand.

Where we stayed at the hotel til sunset,

wearing holes in the bedsheets,

happy and content,

until we left to see the moonlit ocean.

Things have been different

since you got back from La Jolla.

I’m not there to blunt the loss

of your only joy.

Since La Jolla I’ve been pushing daisies

out my grave.

Pinpricks of yellow,

like the sun beneath the waves.