I could go back along the clouded path
in my sleep or blindfolded. I’d know the way
we always walked in summer,
follow the familiar rite of shoe removal
when I reached the brook
before the sands. But there’s no sea
in sight, the sky’s closed down.
A hood is pulled over the coast,
rocks are caped and furred
in white, dense and wet with light.
Ahead the boys and Chrissie slide
into the nebula. Nothing’s as it was.