Inches of unstirred summer sand
are again caressed by the spring tide
as I palm the white beach and let
the hourglass grains fall crisp
and calm from my hand-made bottleneck.

A four-year-old boy pours out
the ocean, one yellow bucket
every turn. Tireless he’s run
that cycle since I clocked down
on my hand-picked spot for the day.

While a young uncle and teenage nephew
search for their lost grey frisbee
amongst the career towels and
partnered parasols, like two turkeys
set adrift upon a sea of fortuity.

I’m a little farther up the shore lying
prone on a blue linen blanket
suntan lotion by now sunken into pores
and I squint to make out the other side
of the all-embracing beachfront

jutting from a headland. A wrinkled
body, surrounded by all sorts of family,
blood or no, composed on his ivory cotton
sheet. Smiling as if he’d unlocked the secret
for how to store your hourglass grain.

Dusk tells us all, in a swift wave,
to pack up and take what we have.
It's not often when everything aligns
but today I peered into the pursuing grain
and I can say, I'll have a glow by morning.