by a great churning sea
said to have no memory
we passed a sunny afternoon
and a blue cold dusk
like pacific pilgrims in a new land
making our first prints on ****** sand
but
what we bravely said in the fading light
quickly sifted into the eyeless night

what dreams we painted
long ago became tainted
by ambiguous ambitions with dollar signs
and other equally jaded earthly designs
that did not clutter or cloud our speech
on that seemingly primeval beach
where all still seemed within reach

now I have but a colored frame
and likely only me to blame
for falling farther from Eden with each passing day
when I repress what we three had to say
on a sandy summer shore
in the land that is no more