for the record

i'm driving forward

but it feels like backwards.

a tunnel

of sorts

on a blue lit day,

let's call it Easter for the record.

it's no different than

it was five years ago,

the inlet, the same.

the arched bridge,

the cafe where we sat

in near silence

and decided both to go

on our way.

our bench is warm, as i

sit here.

the same seagulls swooping

down,

the same sailboats

plowing gently across

the sound.

nothing much has changed.