Dolphins

In late afternoon

we cast long shadows

across the sand

as we walk side by side.

We talk of clothes, food and Autumn. 

I try to ask you how you are

as I do every day

and you tell me you’re okay

as you do every day.

You move away into the sea and look back once

and then you watch black shapes that tumble and roll with the waves.

Dolphins. You point.

Dolphins. I follow your gaze.

And then you dive

and your skin silvers

and you click and whistle

and dip a fin and flip a tail

and tumble and roll with the waves.

I should have told you

how I would bind your feet in broidered straps

I should have told you

how I would plait abalone in your hair

I should have told you told you

how I would weave a robe of pure sea silk

I should have told you

how I would knot it too tight to unwind.

Daughter again

you step from the sea 

stars skitter like unfettered sequins in your wake.

As darkness settles

you take my hand 

and I will not cast my eyes back to see 

black rocks that tumble and roll with the waves.