She leans over the landing and drops
pebbles into Budd Bay, the smooth
rocks work their way down her fingers and
out of her hands into the murky water.
The afternoon sun tints everything
an unnatural buff color, like
polaroids from the 1970s.
Her hair slips between the slats of
the boardwalk. Tucked behind a
pierced ear. Strands brush her
forearm. Protein filaments.
She drops another pebble. Plop. The
surface of the water explodes.
On a bench further down the
wharf an old man clips shades onto
his eye glasses. A woman with
curly hair sits down next to him and puts a
blanket across his knees. She shouts at
him to straighten his collar.
Surface tension. Ripples. Water lit by
late summer sunlight. Quickly it goes.
It cannot hold its shape.