Driving over the causeway we count the egrets stalking
the marshes. Should the surprising tally anticipate
the traffic we are bound to hit, must we despair?
My sandal came apart in Pop-Pop’s garden late
this morning. I guess I have to buy another pair.
The radio is on and everyone is talking.
I glimpsed the bay, the diving loon, through misted glass,
and reassured lowered my head again, furling
my weight in the salt-coarse sheet. Summer’s young, invite her
at your leisure–so I told myself, so early
and with sleep returning, pulling the sheet tighter,
wishing we could stay longer, would that moment last.
Poems and short stories by Matthew Dulany have appeared in various journals, including The Northern Virginia Review, The South Carolina Review, and Salamander. He lives in Maryland.