Banana slug dance in evening, waiting for the fire to tire
Seashells beg for rain
While in summer, electric blue midnight comes to an end
Too true too are dripping droplets on sandy patch
Shore lapping and rose hip land locked in garden was trapped

Moon hangs upside down, casting beams on boulders where stacks of snails stare transfixed by licks of light on glistening trails
And beneath it all, a lonely lobster sings a sorry song
A lament to the lost and the already gone