the sun low
but still warm, the summer
drawing
to an end,
(how many more exist?)
the ocean at last less cold.
our feet in the sand
our old chairs
the orange fabric
thin and
faded, but
still holding us steady.
we should go now,
we should
get on the road before dark.
take down
the umbrella, roll up
the towels,
the blanket,
but no.
we cling to the end of summer
like a cliff.
we can't seem to let go.
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