Low tide
The tide has gone out so far
We thought
We could cross over to the other side
Feeding on glistening sand
An army of sandpipers was running a foot
Ahead of the waves’ tongues
The wind kept pushing us south
It carried the golden dust
Radiant in the long hands of the sun
When we turned
The sand filled our eyes and ears
The wind shaped our faces
No one else at the shore
(The man whose dog chased the birds had already left)
The sound of crashing waves
We retrace our footprints
Barely seen in the sand
And head for the car
When we get back the ocean fills the house
We swim in our dreams
Breathe at low tide
"Feeding on glistening sand
ReplyDeleteAn army of sandpipers was running a foot
Ahead of the waves’ tongues
The wind kept pushing us south
It carried the golden dust
Radiant in the long hands of the sun"
I could feel the wind and feel the heat from the sun--wonderful!
Leszek > Matisse
ReplyDeleteThis only happens when the hands of the sun touch a poet...