The ocean that is eternally open to you.
In the sliding sand, your dog gently alters his play
to meet the deficits of his aging companion.
A similar tenderness in your decade-long friendship
with the other dog’s owner.

When was the ocean
ever not there?
If such a time could be remembered,
it would exist beyond anything
resembling memory, or what became
memory—the force
that enables single-celled organisms
to reproduce. When
have we ever not been here?

Youth sang a song
and later watched the young sing.
Age watches
neither self, nor other,
but the knowingness
in which we will all come to be held.
The ocean that is eternally open to you.