A Very Good Walking

The boy offering to go
before me on the beach,
where the tide's gone out low,
and find the hard
smooth sand I've said I like
that's good for walking fast
the way I do. And he knows, yes,
where is the good walking sand,
and a dollar only, quite cheap. Okay,
I say, knowing I'll pass him
in ten minutes, but then it's an
hour, and he's still ten steps
ahead, veering us out of the mush
and the muck of the last
tide, a labyrinthine northwardness
with the wind behind us,
the Sea of Cortez lolligagging due
east, and the boy turning
to smile at me and hum a bit
of whatever it is I'm singing.