IDENTIFICATION

The sound of my footsteps echoing along the forsaken boardwalk seems to beat a cadence

with the hammering surf.

Overhead,

the sky cannot decide between fleecy turbulence and heavy gray.

The arthritic hinges of a rusty Coca Cola sign

cry out in protest

as the breeze shoulders its way blindly

among the decaying buildings.

A scrap of paper moves across the sand, dancing, spinning, tumbling.

The desolation is complete.

I have come to feed upon this, nurturing my loneliness,

exploiting my loss.

Later,

tomorrow,

next week,

I will laugh and drink

and go home with a stranger.

The cycle will start again

and I will move along the same path

almost by rote.

Knowing the pitfalls,

knowing the consequences,

I will still move forward irresistibly

until once again

I will find myself here;

suspended,

positive

that I have lost the only thing that matters,

you.

But who are you?

Where are you?

What are you?

Love?

Companionship?

Sex?

All of these and none.

One day I will know.

And that day, I will cease to be one with one

and we shall become two.

But until that day

the sky and I will be undecided,

the sea and I will be wild and uncaring,

the wind and I will run in circles.

-Ralph Wyatt, Jr.

11