Sand between the folds of your shirt
falling
as you stood above me, held out your
hand
and helped me to my feet that day; you
already
knew I was reading the lines of your palm,
feeling
the heartbeat I wanted to believe in—believe
me
when I say that I don’t regret enough to
cry
until long after the waves are silenced,
before
you, I didn’t imagine I could make
contact.

By Heidi Turner