We watched someone take a picture of the moonrise.
You said, Do you know Ansel Adams' "Moonrise,
                                                  Hernandez, New Mexico?"
1941. Most expensive print sold at the time.
The technical skill involved in limning a picture with moonlight.
And now anyone with his handphone camera.
You had your own SLR in your bag (wound around with tape
To keep it from spilling its film out), towel over your shoulder
Still damp from your swim, wine bottle in one hand.
Some record has to be made, with whatever tool comes to hand.
We lay down in a clearing of sand and sky
Bound by the hulks of overturned boats,
Cigarette packets and leaves tamped down under us,
Rasp of sand on skin, tangle of word and breath.
Later, I sat up and watched you sleep in a grey fall of light,
Committing to memory the long planes of your body, line of
                                                                      each breath,
The shadows you cast on the sand.