A careful wreak
I walked; I am.
Burning like a wild
candle in the white sand;
To go cold and dark
when tide is high,
though wet, to relight
when it hides, back
behind stormy horizons.

Slow approaches
coming dawn.
Pressure's on.
There happens my
unresisting retreat, my
backward treading feet;
a reluctance of will. Defeat,
to cut at my soles, when I walk in
tide pools who flow with regret
and shame, where urchins and coral of
remorse still remain
on times beachheads who reach back out
with the frigid waves;
recede and surrender
to a lunar tug on their sleeves
and follow
into tomorrow;
Something I wish no longer to see.