A west wind breathes crisply on our ears and cheeks, as we
walk along Commencement Bay.

Your words lament fickle women, and the
years you spun, years that evolved into this life-web.

Mosaic squares filled with water, lyrical patterns, refresh our eyes
as Puget Sound echoes your salty lamentations.

We walk upon a bulkhead freckled with barnacles
and peer across the undulations of surf scoters and loons to Vashon.

Mount Rainier stands behind a brown haze, while the car ferry treks
to Tahlequah. You look into the murky distance

and comment once again on fleeting kisses and the inconstant nature of mortal
clay.

- Avis M. Adams