B of E #7: digging water and kissing clouds

he must have been cold
for it is May
and there is no heat
in the descending sun

 

he stood
in the Bay
water above his knees
a short-handled garden spade
in his hands
and he shoveled

 

displacing water
in a regular rhythmic movement
forward and down
scoop and raise
over the shoulder

 

repeat

 

above him
a cloud-bank has formed lovers
engaged in a kiss
lingering
intact
as last ethereal wisps
perform an illusion of presence
all the while
stealing away secretly
until a moment when no kiss remains
they are gone

 

the sun is low
the water transformed
to cobalt

 

the shovel wielder too
is no longer there
his impact
as ephemeral as cloud

 

~