atop the breakwater

The world seems kinder
when you’re perched atop the breakwater
as the wind gently pulls our hair free from behind our ears
and catches the grains of sand tumbling off our legs
We speak in a hush
as we watch the sun we had come to meet do its thing
It doesn’t rise from below the sea like we wish it did
it never does here
No, our sun always breaks from behind its curtain of clouds
like it had simply been forgotten by the night and in fact,
hadn’t moved at all
Its chasm of light expands
the way a bead of ink breaks
all at once
Its light is irreversible
Illuminating a country behind us that we were happy to ignore
But as we meet the gazes of sailors we believe are watching from their ships
with our backs still turned to the world
and our giggles cutting through the whining of koel birds
I am certain that on this regular July morning
we know exactly how Gatsby felt
looking upon the unblemished shores of New York
and that I’ll someday jog past this place
sometime in the evening
having not seen you in a month
and remember
the time i came face to face with something commensurate to my capacity for wonder

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