For Pauline  

Your wind-blown body

drops to diamond dust,

refuses retort; sweeps beaches

and street festivals where party-goers

don hula hoops, swimsuits:  tiki-voodoo

darlings delighting in your light.

Where you fall now does not track.

Still, I listen in the gloaming for star-strands

spun into sentences, where wave-break

waits, resuscitating summer.