The former dead guy
resurrected four years ago
eats his favorite crab
sandwich in Bodega Bay,
on his 80th birthday,

then drives us up the coast
on an afternoon so blustery
it knocks us sideways
as we maneuver rugged
steps down to the black
sand of Shell Beach

where we watch wicked
waves explode onto
seastacked rocks, as
fine grains pepper our
otherwise white hair.

On the way back up,
he lurches left, but quickly
regains his balance, his
plumb line swinging back
to vertical.

We pause, take a breath
and turn to look at
the thundering sea in
all its glory doing what
it has for eons, what it
will do long after we are
no longer.

Windswept, we turn
and, mindful of every
precious step, walk
together into the rest
of our lives.