That day on the shingle beach, as the warm salty wind blew
The towel into the back of the creek,
I looked away quickly to pull it back and shake the sand from off of it.
Your cup was full of hot tea and the plate with the sandwich,
- one bite taken from it - sat beside the strawberry jam.
I thought you’d gone over that large sand dune,
To catch one last sight of that schooner that was riding high
On the back of the crackling blue waves,
But you weren’t there.
I asked someone, but they said no one had passed by them,
The police couldn’t find a trace, not of you or of anything
That belonged to you.
They started to think that you had never existed.
People disappear these days and no one notices, nor cares.
bobby stevenson 2013