A Sashay at Dawn
A summer sashay at dawn near the ocean’s edge.
Black panties. That was it.
Her idea.
She insisted I shoot a roll of black and white film.
She wanted analog grain, not pixels.
She wanted smudge and gauze.
Get the dogs in some of the shots, she commanded.
Waves trickling ashore,
hardly a whisper.
Fog drifting back and forth like a long tennis rally.
The dogs led the way.
They vanished.
She almost did.