the shore line stirs, as tides combust
as skin yields flesh and flesh yields seed
and plants grow harsh on the salty weed.
formless strewn upon the blue green grass
timid fingers lift and then retire
and the softest sigh of memory
and self escapes your lips.
in due reply the violet sky
lets loose a moan then silentness
and out of soundless reverie
a tropic bird doth screech.
the tide pauses,
then carries on.