Crux

I turn away and watch
sailboats and kestrels 
through salty 
binoculars, sharpening
the focus, trying to get 
closer. But I blur 
my sight as if acuity 
isn’t really the
point. These beaches 
remind me of the past,
yet sand has a way
of eroding into sea or
gathering into barrier
islands. Even the 
Crux, a constellation
navigators have long
trusted, will slowly 
uncross itself and 
open as parallel 
lines. Today you took 
me on a ride
up a high, narrow 
road with crumbling 
guard rails, but I 
wanted to return
so you could go on. 
My view is already 
precipitous—I’d rather 
stand by the window,
pretend things 
are still.