Hills constituted by white blood cells and Beachgrass
dunes whose shapes shaven by all-but-boardshorts boys
form ingenues. Their eyelids sheered of coconut.
Milk meat. The boys' shorts
were red. The boys' shorts read Billabong, Mountain-
side, Still Wind. Molly was there. Bare feet. Molly was moving.
Molly's molecules were there. Short toes.
Molly was moving tomorrow. Tomorrow Molly's molecules
would move. Easy not to believe. Not true until tomorrow.
What was true now was gulls opposite the passenger door
Molly threw QuarterPounder w/ Cheese bun to--at--to--at.
At two I'd drive her home over the dune. We wouldn't look back.
No pillars, but salt in the air we could taste around the windshield,
and hairless boys in red shorts, sandy shoes, who knew
she wasn't there.