Gray Is

the ocean as it rolls
after a storm
more dolphin-like
than shark-sharp
and obedient
surging the shore
but before rushing off
again offers
from its depths
gifts of shells
some the color of gulls
others the color of
thin rain like
on that late afternoon
outside the café when
our words were
little ripples
between kisses.
Kisses
their delicious abundance
now sixty-one years later
are the only way
to row your mind
away from the edge
that drops
into fathoms of
nothingness.