seven summers at the beach

that would be a good title
for your book about depression
she said, as if it were something
I could come home and put
into words that could one day
be pulled from the shelf

she knows I have it in me
my darkness has ebbed
and flowed like the tides
each season sometimes quiet
sometimes lashing against
the sea wall throwing stones

when we walk together
we stop at the same spot
and look out over the water
we gaze from the same place
but the view is different
every time we stop

seven summers at the beach
and I know my ebb
and flow, the gathering
storms and the quiet seas
and I have survived
like an old seafarer

one day my view will change
I will not see the sea
when I stop to find myself
she will be beside me still
that’s how I will know
where I am

and she will take my hand
and say, remember our
seven summers at the beach
oh yes, I’ll say and we
walk home together
as sure as the tides

Peace,
Milton