It was here on the beach that your Fedora blew off
and you ran to catch it, years ago already.
I didn’t think you could go so fast.
You gave the hat to me and made a photo of me wearing it.
An ordinary happy day. One of many. Unimportant.
Our life together.
The sand has moved, the sea came and went.
Millions of grains, thousands of tides later nothing has changed
except you are dead now, your hat torn and gone.
Happy days are like that, they mean nothing, they do nothing,
they are nameless days on calendars with no real events,
until only sand is left. No more you. No more Fedora. It was all wonderful.