Intersections

On that picnic table by the beach
where, so strangely,
pine trees grew all the way to the shore
we stopped and rested our heads.
Do you remember?
Through the white sand and the heat haze
we walked and walked
and suddenly- a picnic table
its rough wood surface
seemed like the end of our journey.
We rested there under the smell of the pines.
Do you remember?