On the lanai, last shreds of our day.
I tell him there is violet in the green of the sea.
Smeared wine glasses, empty. We are a little drunk.
I must witness the view for both of us.
Must borrow gumption to look with rib-fixed breath
when he asks what more I see.
Must use the right words to paint the iridescent sky,
whale breech, wind-bent palms, watchful herons.
I want to relieve his gloom.
With my hands over my eyes, I see through his,
how easy it is to lose life in unmeasured increments.
Forget how a wave shatters into crystals.
Memory doesn’t help him today. Forgive me.
He holds a dark stare, listens to an unclenched sea
as if it will answer.
Nancy Huxtable Mohr is a retired teacher. She is a member of the Community of Writers and has taken Independent Poetry Study at Stanford University with Eavan Boland( 2015). Her work may be found in her book, The Well (Butternut Press 2018), and in many journals, most recently at Loch Raven Review, The MacGuffin, Hyacinth Literary Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Blue Earth Review and many others. She was shortlisted for the 2022 UK Environmental Poetry Prize.