St. Augustine at Night

At the heart of a city
that has learned to wear its ruins
on purpose, a drawbridge grants passage
to shapes intent on anchor or retreat.
An endangered right whale moans and
thumps and cries in this ocean
between us, announcing a desire
to not be alone, no—
to be with another of its kind.

I think of a friend who writes three
love poems a day and never edits, no—
never apologizes for the wanting.
I feel a loss on the way.
You’ll either stop it or deliver it.
Time will be marked
and I’ll learn to say that was before
as a way of explaining why
I am now different.

The determined red lights flash
and once more arms outstretch
toward the halved moon.
The water no longer vibrates with need.
It is still and silent and I say into it please
don’t go. Stay.