Agog in the brilliance of the sun
I photograph it for keepsake.
What remained though was loneliness -
of a beauty caught in memory, not quite in words.

But what?

There upon the shimmering sand is the man. He has a gun that ain't loaded. He points it at me and I feel, correctly, no terror. What shall happen next I ask myself and find myself handing him the bullets. He pulls the trigger upon himself - with better judgment indeed - escaping where I can't follow, leaving me in living hell.