Talk about shadows had overshadowed the afternoon. Then a tropical evening with light rain was delivered by mistake and we felt giddy. As if we were on vacation, and about to meet someone interesting. Like ominous music, the shadow of the earth dissected a crater on the moon. As if the waiter moving so inconspicuously among us was a spy. In one corner, poets from Los Angeles were discussing traffic. But you, you were like the rain, not caring if you disappeared into the ocean. Oh well, I thought, as I brushed a tiny bit of cake from your cheek and placed it on my tongue, even a shadow can cast a shadow. There is a lost shoe on the bottom of the ocean. The shoe is right next to a claw-foot bathtub. In some poems the shoe and the bathtub would not speak to each other. The poets from Los Angeles were discussing secret shortcuts. The shoe thought it had a lot in common with the bathtub, both being hollow, singular, and somewhat out of place. How lucky we were to step out into the evening that had been delivered to us, even if it was a mistake, to let the frothy chill of surf stun us into feeling alive. We stood knee-deep in the ocean and raised our empty glasses to the rain.