The sea at low tide is collecting itself.

We head down from the dunes

to walk the hard sand troweled smooth

by the surf, the beach empty

this September afternoon, both of us

replaying memories of our boys

exultantly owning this patch of ocean.

A sand ridge the sea will soon wreck

is as good a spot as any for us to sit awhile,

facing the blue on blue, as chutes

of braided water straggle down to meet the tide.

Far out and just above the surface,

the wings of southbound sea ducks

seem to tug the waves like the oars

of ancient ships. Every breaker is a spoiler

but we keep watching anyway.