So I went down to the sea again for the last time, and I said to the sea, Well. And she, who had been so talkative all day, replied, Shh. I might have listened but for all the bad blood. The leaving things around. The boats, the docks, the overturned roofs and uprooted trees. And yet, when I got home, and my wife asked me, What? I repeated, Shh. And she said, Shh? And together we made a sound like a storm, until our basement flooded. We watched from the roof as our lives floated away. Goodbye, she said, and I thought she meant, Good God. Good grief, I said. And the sea replayed that message again and again all night. Finally, we slept. The seagulls woke us in the morning with ape-like barks and high-pitched laughter. I had to agree. We looked very funny. The two of us lying at the peak. As naked and as cold as the day we first splashed down. Two strange astronauts launched from a good orbit into a salty sea.
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