We could live in our books
but not completely so

the waves were one color
for you—completely red

and another one for me—
say they were completely blue

we circled—crossed—were
completed by those waves

we shouted out of car windows
uttered our incomplete goodbyes

see you later, Shifting Inlet
or whatever good friends say

who haven’t known each other long—
goodbye, Ethel Rackin, goodbye.