Point Reyes, June 2020

Lagoon lies below the dune ridge.
Pacific blue blurs into Pacific sky.

My son says the blue is midnight,
glints on the surface are stars,

sliver of kelp is the Milky Way.
And we look down into sky,
out across its expanse.

(On the trail out and back, humans are sparse
and cautious: retreating to the side of the path,
pulling up kerchiefs over their breath.)

All afternoon I drink
from that bowl of beauty
under the brim of my hat

while my daughter collects water insects
and my son digs sand channels.

We arrive home replete, breathing
the width of emptiness.

MEG YARDLEY

Meg Yardley lives in the San Francisco Bay area. Her poetry and short fiction have recently appeared in or will soon appear in publications including Gulf Coast, Salamander, SWWIM, Cagibi, and the Women’s Review of Books.