Before, bicycle tracks and footprints covered the sand They were irrelevant, or worse, unwanted marks on nature These mornings, there are only a few of them, spaced way out But they are welcome sights, like trace evidence of closeness
Before, others were coming and going on all sides
Jostling for position, scattering seagulls, and intruding on my space These mornings, long stretches go by in solitude
But when it’s broken, we wave, embracing each chance to greet
Before, we were all headed away from each other, purposefully Separated, not by space, but by groupings that didn’t mix well These mornings I wonder, what if we missed each other enough That on the other side “my-way-or-the-highway” became our way.