Northumberland Shore, Meadowville to Toney River by Susan Olding

that first glimpse of water
we’d crest Poplar Hill
the car, and my stomach
would drop
and it was hard to say
if it was motion
or the sight of such pure blue
that made it happen

windows open
we swallowed
salt air
father, mother, brother, even the dog
and me
and in that exchange
of breath
we were—for once—as one

at low tide, I’d plant myself
near a rivulet and dig
sand clinging to my damp suit
shoulders turning pink
in the warm sun
watching the hollows
my hands had made fill
and fill again, inexhaustible

— from Juniper Volume 6, Issue 1