To think that August
could rest entirely on this shore –
towels heavy with saltwater,
a child’s plastic bucket
tilted in the sand,
gulls balancing on the wind’s edge,
their cries lost
in the chatter of umbrellas.

You walk toward the shallows,
each step pulling light
from the wet skin of the sea.
The air smells of sunscreen
and grilled fish from a kiosk
that has never closed for the season.

I try to match your pace,
but the tide writes slower lines for me –
as if it knows
I’m not ready
to reach the place
where you stop and turn.

When you do,
the sun catches your face,
and for a moment
I believe this afternoon
will not end –
that the tide will stop
just long enough
for me to memorize
how your hair bends
under its weight of water.

---

Gordan Struić is a Croatian lawyer, poet, and musician from Zagreb. His work has appeared in numerous literary journals in Croatian and English, including 34th Parallel, Half Mystic, Stone Poetry Quarterly, and Headlight Review. In 2025, he received a Special Recognition Award at the Beyond Words contest in Trieste. He writes about silence, memory, and the ways small details can hold entire seasons.