To share him

On the shelf near my door rest a wooden grizzly

and white dandelion, frozen in glass.

The room itself is full of tapestries, mold, and painting of a woman

in long sleeves; this beach house feels like a castle.

Whoever owns it reads Amy Tan

and collects sea shells—which cover the bureaus,

and window sills, and fill half a dozen glass pyramids.

I wish I could take a picture for you.

Of the ocean last night, too.

We hiked down to it in the dark and dug a two-foot pit

for a fire, we thought close to shore.

Out in the water a blue light shone,

doubled by the surface. I can’t judge distance in the blackness.

I asked if it was a lighthouse.

A man who grew up here said no: a buoy,

a shrimp boat, maybe. I walked closer, but the water shirked away,

the light looked nearer. It bobbed. I thought I saw legs.

Someone beside me said, “That’s a person!

On the water, like Jesus.” Which was a joke,

but true. What we believed was the ocean

faded into a flat expanse of sand, wet enough to reflect the sky.

A man walked across it, carrying a lamp

and dragging some metal canister behind him: clamming.

“Hello,” we yelled. A second later we said good evening.

“Have you found any clams?” A yard away, he finally spoke.

“Good evening. Only a few. About ten.”

We stood to watch his lamp journey back into the darkness.

Where is his family? Why did I assume he had one?

I thought of Moria and lyrics from a song I’ve come to love:

you can’t find love in a hole. (Which is true, Davey Jones.)

In a minute the man was a lighthouse again.

The mystery gone, everyone around me returned

to the fire. I continued and found the true edge of the ocean.

It was cold, but a break in the clouds opened like a cave.

Or a fistful of stars. A meteor blazed. I wore a scarf,

and it folded in the wind. I know the sand stung too, but what

am I trying to say? Laughter and light resounded behind me;

the world seemed too large to come up against alone.

Like every encounter with the ocean at night, I felt closer

to God. I guess for the first time I just wanted to share him.