coarse salty air, shapes in soft sand showing the echo of waves.
cackling gulls over by the road, fighting over some scraps
the water flows like blanket pulled over the head
hiding the sand under the undulating soft blank sea
the sun is high, and burns the sand and salt into your skin.
the walk burns your muscles and you decide to rest
sit on the collapsing footprints of others
the softened erased castles where crabs used to live
sit to stare at the sharp horizon and blink in the harsh sun
perhaps boats or canoes or dinghies will wash past
perhaps you will wave and smile, perhaps you will sit there til dark
and no one will care when you walk into the cold clutches of the sea.