red-eyed pigeon pecking for scraps in the sand
staggering through white-washed ripples of land, and
separating cigarette butts from orphaned leaves.
the sea is heaving her depths
ever toward the static shore,
sure that sore feet will willingly greet her
refuge from the blistering sun.
sons of fisherman
scuttling about on waves no bigger than your thumb,
humming drum beats
to the wind and romancing the sky.
the clouds dome over the earth,
mountainous and whispering wisps upon the water.
my hair is bleached, painted by the daylight
and I am gradually washing, washing away
into the sea.
the world tinted cerulean
my tongue rolls out mysteries, doubts, prophecies
trying to envelop contradicting truths
in a shrinking shoreline.
disillusioned, hands fall slack
from the choke hold at my throat
and salted air rasps into lungs
grappling with the gravity of  tides.