He walks the winter beach because
That's what she would have done.

He stands in the twilight of the waves,
Staring into one of her Spring afternoons.

Wind on his grey hair waving to the air,
The cold is not cold now; it is just cold.

The sweater underneath his coat is one
She knitted during one of her better weeks.

His fingers feel her fingers, her always warm
Skin wrapping around his frigid knuckles.

He walks the winter beach because
That's what she would have done

On this late December night with sea gulls
Asking, "Where has she gone- that woman

With the eyes that looked into the past with
A knowing smile of the future's pleasant touch.