It was that time of day, when the sun was rushing slow beams
through the spokes of the Ferris wheel, when the sudden calm
of day struck the boards and the gulls seemed to flutter
from the release like ash tossed to the winds—it was then,
when the sea turned to a white boulevard, to mirror
the broad walk of the board beside the strand,
that we were startled by the bright, mercurial beauty
of the dolphins, streaming as they did just out of our reach.
In bewildered concourse, arrested at the cries sent up and down
from the Ferris wheel’s slow progress to the lights of the pier,
we listed to the beach side, devoured the teasing glint of the dolphins
in the waters of our late exodus. The Ferris wheel may have stopped
its spinning—we didn’t noticed. All that was remarkable
was the bright suggestion of alien movement in the white
glass water, familiar creatures unreal again in their now
incredible proximity. For a few moments, it is us—and them.
For a few unclear moments, we utter only unintelligible noise,
undistinguishable from the cacophony of hungry gulls,
unlovely beside the joyous, white silence of the strangers in the water.
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