No Trace

Last seen walking an isolated beach
at low tide on a remote island
in fact the eye witness may be
making it all up the way
she leaned into him their hands
loosely clasped their knees
lifting in certain mystic synchronicity
his trouser legs unrolled and wet
around the ankles feet immersed
in trembling shallow surf a zephyr pink
imbuing all even her white shift
wet too at the hem clinging
and all this just a moment just
an image in and out of focus
all the deciding and hesitating
long since given up and let go
what each brought in their way
lost now as history rewrites itself
and someone over here this side
behind our left shoulder says
it doesn't matter but there was
a coincidence I hear you say
an address in Chicago an aging aunt
en route to Santa Barbara
a garden with fireflies and a night
without traffic without urgency only
the pale undoing of corn in the kettle
meat searing and laughter never
talk of the throbbing aircraft their
endless migrations dropping fire afar
so much pain washed away
in this tide