Should we go to the beach? someone says, five bottles in and the kitchen a disaster. The last flecks of dusk disappear on the horizon, and premature fourth of July parties dot the country clubs of the north shore. By the time we make it to the uneven pebbles, the bay lies dark before us. I do not hesitate. Long strokes into the Long Island sound, I know only the weight of water, how it cools your brow, how it clears the weight in your chest. The wine recedes quickly from your veins, you are healed.
By the time we go to bed, everything is quiet. I think there is no medicine like salt water.
And that is enough for now.
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