The white ibis glides overhead
to the far side of Turnball Bay—
the distance between what was said
and all I wished I could say.
Before me, the muscled tides flow,
and sharp winds cut back at the waves
so I can’t see what lies below—
those secrets the dark water saves.
The sea grass curves in question marks
around my searching, submerged hand.
Blue, broken shells like heaven shards
lie on the narrow strip of sand.
Whichever shoreline I walk to,
the wild birds fly to the other.
This morning divides me from you,
but the birdcalls echo over.