Dwelling, I feel forlorn.
I mourn for the lost thoughts
escaping like breath from the corner of your mouth when you stifle a yawn in the sun.
I think for the bottles of beer
lost at sea,
cold but empty, liquor drunk and lost, your bottle stands sentry,
proudly holding a message as it bobs over waves,
it sails for the marooned it's trying to save.
Inside, a note.
Outside, the glass reflects the clouds as it floats beneath them.
I sit with the marooned in the sun and watch the clouds -
shapes like animals, worlds in the sky glimpsed for a moment and lost -
melting away like frost in the sun.
I think for myself as I lounge.
Like frost in the sun, I melt into the ground and it cradles me,
shape of my body pressed in the sand.
Soon to be washed away,
with these thoughts dwelling in the sun, I stifle a yawn, and I open another beer.