a room by the sea

as you put your bag down

you study the room,

placing a few dollars into

the waiting hand

of the boy who turned

the key.

the bed is large, the blanket

smoothed out over

white sheets.

there's a mirror, a dresser.

a window

that looks out over the sea.

a chair at a small desk.

the door closes as you

turn the light off and slide

the chair over, parting the curtains.

you hear the ocean, the lapping

of waves not far off.

in the pale light of moon

you see two lovers, arm

in arm, walking slowly

through the sand.

you want to yell out to them

that you're on their side.

but you don't say a word.

it would reveal too much of

your own past, your own

diminished life.