We have been saved
by a seventh wave- a big one that washed us
back to footholds.
We can laugh about it now over
drinks from our bottle of Irish.
We are cooking tortillas,
talking about how long it would've taken to float to Japan.

He, at least, knows the language.

After dinner we are on the beach again,
the bonfire snapping like bones,
a big bottle of red wine.
We sing off key and a little drunkenly.
Tomorrow we will go back.

The moon is a crescent turning away from us
and if the moon dreams, it dreams of speaking.

-Excerpt from Long Beach
Jay Ruzesky