Juan Luna: Seashore
It was one of the last good days—
newly pregnant and wearing red,
Inès shone against the grey Normandy sky
and the dun beaches. Arm in arm,
they explored the pools left
by the receding tide, murky puddles
of black seaweed and tiny, inedible crabs.
As if they understood, fishermen, other tourists,
little boys selling postcards left them alone.
The green scent of seagrass growing wild
on the bluffs mingled with the smell of decay,
and on the wind Miguel listened
for the sound of jingling medals.