Without vows or refuge

Gazing into a mirror where
all I see is
                              reels of smoke
out along the beach road
              where I don’t find you
leaning into the breeze
                              a half mile from here
Every wave wash foam bubble seashell pendant
changing shape before I can switch on the light
& catch them
                              to be turned into sand
                                                                & desperation
divided three ways
              exhausted like Beach Street on Sunday night
so you no longer need to remember
the way the pavement laid down at your feet
                                                nor the condensed
                              sea-shadows that
followed you there