where, 64 years ago, you
just-minted high school graduate,
decided to brave the waters

of the Strait of Georgia, on
the coastal middle an island
called Vancouver,

at a seaside resort called
the Sea-esta, showing off,
perhaps, just a little, for

the teenaged daughter
of the friends of your parents
you were visiting.

Nearly four decades later,
we drove up that long island
to see the girl who, it developed,

kept your graduation photo
that you signed to her
so long ago, you, the California

boy who discovered in 1960
that not all ocean was, as
the girl imagined, warm enough

for surfing. And now, some
two decades after that,
we scuff through the fine-

sanded beach to admire
that cold surf, then turn
to look at the resort that

still exists, grateful that you,
California boy, and that
island girl still do, too.

•••

(for Dick and Louise)