In another life, defined
by just one different choice,
I walk next to you as you
lead us along the shoreline –
bare feet sinking in wet
sand, the early morning filled
with a grey mist, seagulls,
the whisper of waves –
near the pier a rock
pile surrounded by seaweed
and cold coean foam, you
stop and point –
“Daddy, that starfish only has four arms!”