A tidal pool reflected the reddening sun and those three inches of trapped ocean water seemed to travel down for leagues. These were the same tide pools my father had wandered through as a young man, when the New Jersey boardwalk wasn’t a neon parade for sunglasses and cheap hotels. I walk those unnaturally warms pools and close my eyes and listen to the sounds that he heard too. The sights and smells of a fluid shoreline are always changing, but some things stay the same. Crashing waves and a heavy breathing wind.
With eyes still closed I know what that wind could be, so warm, so focused. A call to manhood, a women’s warming breath in my ear. This is a call to see the beauty of what could be. I traced my naked foot through the off-white sand, making a line from the tide pool to the water. A sunset, once stagnant, flowed slowly out to sea. I walked backwards toward the water following its path.
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