Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don’t leave me for a second, my dearest.
From I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair
by Pablo Neruda
Soft feet dancing surf
washes traces of you goodbye-
you step and then
sand remembers you no more.
But I do, as your footprints
leave me empty-handed on shore.
I remember my waves crashing into your shore,
an open cave moist with sea and scented lime.
Don’t leave me- white surf seems to pound
into grey beach
or memory will be what’s left.
Don’t leave. Not even if for a moment.