A Distant Figure Approaching At A Purposeful Speed

They said, 'You have a blue guitar,
You do not play things as they are.'
The man replied, 'Things as they are
are changed upon the blue guitar.'
from 'The Blue Guitar' by Wallace Stevens


This sand. This sea. This sky. Did I
dream them? By evening
it was as if we'd never been there. But
I have a photograph. See? We were there.

And see that guy striding towards us,
as if he knows us? He never reached us.
The space between us, that bleached
beach, never lessened.

I'd decide he was a figment if it wasn't
for the hazy photographic evidence.
Perhaps an old school friend attempting to
reunite. Names from the past return.

Mick Brennan. Richard Silsden. Nigel
Harrod. Bill Oakes. I don't think I
was best mates with any of them. What
would we have to say, now, if we spoke?

Sea. Sky. Sand. So plentiful. So commonplace.
But beautiful. I'm scraping around here. Looking
for meaning. Forcing meaning? Sea. Sky. Sand.
There's so much I don't understand.