breakfast

she moves the eggs
around on her plate,
like ideas, soft
and yellowed, now
cold. they are suddenly
tasteless. she gives
up and sets
her fork down. i
listen to her silence
and stare out across
the boardwalk, the
wide flat sand, empty
of everyone. i sip
my coffee. it's
january and the gulls
are as white as
empty shells with
wings. there is nothing
left to say.