A single image

Filed away, tucked safely in my head

Of a sunny scene.

A sunny scene,

Light glaringly bright in

Sun-worn, teary eyes—

Reflecting off the water

It pains my eyes to look,

But treasures lie on the rocks

Secured there by what seems like will alone.

Warm water in the pool, hot compared to

The lake’s cold depths.

It is stones and sand, both of them

Rough.

It was chilly that day, I think.

The sun was bright,

yes, but

The wind was soaring

Over open waters,

Enough to make our summer clothes cold.

Our treasure was there

Tiny and fascinating

In our equally tiny hands.

The snail pool on the island

With no name

A place to which I cannot return.