I heard them just before I saw them.
I came down the half-buried steps
With their bleached beige rail and sat,
Part ting-a-ling and fairy wings for them,
And breaths that made the air feel black.
Hugged my guts because they hurt.
A man and a woman in the surf.
About our age.
About our look, but they would be.
They splashed, held hands, danced,
Pranced, hugged, laughed, kissed, ran.
Then they walked, shoes in hand,
Another hand loosely in the other.
And the lightning arced from their fingertips
And I arched my back like a killer
Fighting the chair, but did not move.
Just became part of the rock I was on.
Dark and old and cold with a hard shiny heart
That splintered like a tiny bomb.
And the tiny splinter hit a tiny splinter
And I saw or felt a tiny spark
That was not bright and was not warm,
But it gave me the strength to stand.
by Kevin Eaglesfield
Read the story behind this poem
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