The sun sets the world aglow,
fire on the sand
and glitter on the sea.
It sends kisses down my spine.
The wind is its messenger,
tousling my hair--
it was neat once upon a time
this morning.
Now that is just a distant memory,
my hair is a mess
of fine yarn upon
my forehead,
mussed by sea water and running through rainbows,
where colors meld to my skin
and glow bright
in the dying sunlight.
My back and legs are burning
like onions frying
in a pan,
but I don't care
because my cheek
is pressed into the warm sand,
and my hair
is a fan round my head,
and the wind
whistles merry songs from over the sea,
and they reach me,
a shouted echo in an empty cave,
and I will stay here forever,
with my feet in the sand
and the waves in my blood.
I shall sleep beneath the moon,
and hold hands with
the constellations.
I shall float in the midst of the vast green ocean
whose waves are forest creatures,
rising up high
to kiss my neck
before crashing upon the shore
and stroking my feet.
I shall build here a home,
of sand
and sand alone.
I shall spend every waking hour
building my small beautiful home,
only to watch it dry out
and collapse
at the end of each day.
I shall start anew with the rising sun.