Origin

Across the room, you reminded
me of when I was younger, and that
reminded me of the cove, the stones, the ocean.
Would I go back if I could? I think yes. 

Me when I was younger—that
suggests California and light on the water.
Would I go back if I could? —I think
of that place so often, it’s a motive,

a suggestion of California, light on the water,
a lustrous music shimmering into a tune
of that place, a worn motive
reappearing in my own song: I can’t

conjure new shimmer or luster, but the tune,
the tune hums way back in the mix:
often enough, the tune’s a motif
I can’t leave alone, like stealing from myself.

I want to dream up a glimmer of music
surfaced like a glass float from the sea,
given to me alone, not as fetish, not theft.
If I return to that place, dive there again,

what broken, tumbled thing will surface?
The cove, stone beach, the water, all familiar
gifts: I’ve cherished and kept them, alone,
reminders of who we were then, me and you.