The old negative of her with her hair pinned back I hold up to the horizon and see it fade into the waves. It was the one taken through the filtered window of her black car, her face half in night and half in day. Behind, I hear the echo of the sand cave. In front, the roar of swirl and foam claiming her the sun and sea’s possession. Her last letter to me floats free from my back pocket. Her gentle pictogram writing reverses over and over with that shadow caricature she drew of me months back- the last animated flash until there’s nothing left of her but the small light inside.