Knowing that two people
can make love and come away
in different moods--
like Sara, after taking it
farms her eyebrows in the bathroom
while I get urges
to buy jumbo colas at 7-Elevens--
I realize how impossible
to imagine we could have
the same picture about Wachapreague,
our dinner of brandy and quail,
a sleepy midnight,
walking around town in the morning
with a dumb look on our faces.

Renting a johnnie boat
we navigate the shoals
and here we beach,
scaring up the plovers
running across sands
to waves breaking
where I look for her
but she's still in the boat
trying to start the motor.
When I catch up to her
she's doing chronic ovals
in the shallows, jambed.

"The thing is" she says,
"We got to make Norfolk by 7:00."